


The Moth's Wing

by miss_mina_murray



Series: The Unwoven Tapestry [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dwarven Culture, F/F, F/M, Fade Shenanigans, Gen, Mage Rights or Mage Fights, Mother/Son Bonding, Origins retelling, Slow Burn, Tags to be added as necessary, dalish positivity, dwarves are neat, flagarant abuse of lore, lmao the templars suck, lore repair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 135,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_mina_murray/pseuds/miss_mina_murray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This world is old and full of horrors, and that is never more clear than when the Blight approaches and an Archdemon rises.  </p><p>Kitranna Surana is called upon to become a Gray Warden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ab Initio

**Author's Note:**

> A retelling of Origins with my main babe, Kitranna Surana.
> 
> The character/pairing/tag list will update as needed, chapter by chapter, as more things happen and more people show up. Tagged AU for future deviations from the norm.

Kitranna Surana ducked her head as the Templar behind her ushered her into the Harrowing Chamber. She had never been here before, as it was off limits to apprentices. It was enormous, the ceiling vaulted high overhead. Pale morning light streamed in through the stained glass windows. The smell of lyrium was strong, even stronger than it was in the classrooms. 

She approached Knight-Captain Gregoire, and swallowed a feeling of nausea as she stared at the bearded human. He was dressed in full ceremonial plate, and his sword was strapped to his back. 

“'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,'” he recited. “Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who brought the world to the edge of ruin. Your magic is a gift, but it is also a curse.”

Kitranna curled her hands into fists, then forced herself to relax.

“Demons of the Fade are drawn to you, and seek to use you as a gateway into our world.”

First Enchanter Irving finally stepped forward. “This is why the Harrowing exists,” he said in his creaking voice. “The ritual will send your mind into the larger Fade, not just the space you go where you sleep. There you will face a demon, armed only with your will.”

“I'm ready,” she said without hesitation. She dug her fingernails into her palms. “I'll do it.”

“Know this, apprentice,” Gregoire said. “If you fail, the Templars will perform our duty. You will die.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “Can we please just do this?” 

Irving reached out, as if to put a hand on her shoulder, but pulled back at the last minute.

“If you wish,” Irving said, and gestured towards the dish of Lyrium in the middle of the room. 

Kitranna reached out for it, felt something reach back for her, and--

 

Kitranna found herself in the Fade. 

She frowned. This was nothing like a dream. 

Well, it _was_ , but only in part. It felt...alien, but familiar at the same time, the very air she breathed charged with magic. She grimaced and rubbed the back of her head. 

Everything around her was strangely blurred and unclear, as if it were all underwater. She blinked, and everything wavered a bit, but refused to solidify. She appeared to be in some sort of clearing, but the surroundings couldn't seem to decide if they were a forest or a wasteland or even inside a building. The place she was in had corners, except when it didn't. Twisted structures surrounded her, half-formed statues and shapes that confused the eye when looked at directly. 

She shook her head and moved forward, to where she could see a path. She glanced overhead and saw that the sky was an odd, greenish sort of color, with hazy islands of land floating in it. 

The only thing that was clear was an enormous black shape, floating in the distance. The Black City. She swallowed and kept her eyes down and walked on. 

She wasn't really sure what she was supposed to do. She saw no demons here, nor could she feel any. She had met demons before, as all mages had, and could tell when one was near, but here there was nothing. 

She wandered on down the path until she encountered a Wisp. She edged closer—sometimes one could bypass such creatures if one didn't bother them. Unfortunately, this Wisp was hostile, and sent a stinging spark in her direction. She scowled, and tossed a bolt of magic back at it. It fizzled out of existence, and she continued on. She encountered a few more such Wisps, all of them hostile. 

She continued down the path, until the walls around her rose up and almost over her head, as if she were in a tunnel of some sort. 

Kitranna reached out her hand to touch one of the walls, and a voice caught her attention. 

“Someone else thrown to the wolves, as fresh and unprepared as ever,” she looked down and saw that the source of the voice was a mouse. A very large mouse, but other than that, it was gray and ordinary. “It isn't right that they do this, the Templars,” the mouse continued. “Not to you, me, anyone.”

“No, it isn't,” she agreed. 

The rat gnawed on one of his claws. “It's not your fault,” he assured her. “You're in the same boat as I was, aren't you? It's always the same...”

There was a bright shimmering light, and the world around her tilted, then everything righted itself and the mouse was replaced by a man. 

He was a young human man, with auburn hair, dressed in a red mage's robe. Although he was more solid than her surroundings, his features were all blurred at the edges, like he were a watercolor painting that had been smudged. His eyes had dark circles under them, as if he had not slept for days. 

“Allow me to welcome you to the Fade,” he said. “You can call me, well...Mouse.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kitranna said, inclining her head. “Why are you here?”

He looked at her, tilted his head to one side. “The Templars kill you if you take too long,” he informed her. “They figure you failed, and they don't want something getting out.”

She crossed her arms. “I thought so,” she said. 

He tilted his head to the other side. “I'm here because they killed me, I think,” he explained. “And you don't have much time before they do that to you, too.”

She nodded. "Right. So, what am I supposed to do?”

“There's something here, contained,” he glanced around as if he could see whatever-it-was lurking just out of sight. “Something just for an apprentice like you. You have to face the creature, a demon, and resist it, if you can.”

“That's stupid." she wrinkled her nose.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Of course it is, but it's still your way out. Or your opponent's, if the Templars wouldn't kill you. A test for you, a tease for the creatures of the Fade.”

She let out a breath. “What's the _point_ of that?” She demanded. “Mages are supposed to _avoid_ getting possessed by demons. This doesn't make any sense.”

He peered at her. “It isn't so simple.”

“How's that?” she looked around “Should I just start lighting this place on fire or what? That'd kill any demons.”

He shook his head. “You'd be a fool to attack everything you see,” he told her. “What you face is powerful, cunning. There are others here, other spirits. They will tell you more, maybe help. If you can believe anything you see.”

“Of course I can't believe it, it's the Fade. I probably shouldn't even be listening to you, honestly.” she rubbed the back of her head and looked around. “Nice talk. I'm heading out now.”

“I'll follow—if that's alright.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. His features refused to focus, still hazy and unclear. “I'd rather you didn't.”

He blinked. “Oh...um...if that's what you want.”

There was another flash of light, and Mouse turned back into a mouse, then scurried away. Kitranna moved on.

The small pathway lead into a larger, more open area, surrounded by more twisted structures. She could see the strange, pale sky again. There were odd sounds at the edges of her hearing, creaks and groans and whispering voices. She ignored them. 

She couldn't see anything that looked like an enormous demon, nor could she feel it. Either it was hiding, or the test was something else, and Mouse was a liar. Always possible. The feeling of magic was pervasive and was making her fingers tingle, just a little bit. She propped her hands on her hips and looked around. 

On a hill, she could see a flashing, pale shape. She moved over to it, feeling the presence of something strong, but not malevolent. 

Standing on the crest of the hill was a figure that was shaped somewhat like a man. It gleamed, white light emanating from it. It wasn't like the demons she'd encountered, but not really like any friendly spirit, either. It wore armor, or a reasonable facsimile of armor, and watched her as she approached. 

“Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn, I see,” it told her, eyes flashing behind its helmet. “You mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill, rather than be sent unarmed against a demon.”

Kitranna shrugged. “It's what I have to work with.”

“Indeed. The choice, and the fault, lies with the mages who sent you here.”

“It was Templars who sent me here too, you know.”

The spirit tilted its head. “I am unfamiliar with Templars—I have encountered others of your ilk, but Templars I have never met.”

“They wouldn't like to meet you even if they could,” she told it. She looked at the spirit's armor, which was emblazoned with the unmistakable heraldry of the Templar Order. “You don't know the Templars, but you wear their symbol?” she said, furrowing her brow. 

“Do I?” the spirit blurred and shifted, and suddenly its plate was plain. 

“Oh—I guess not.” she pressed a hand to her head. 

“All things here are as you expect them to be.” 

“Everything?”

“Of course,” the spirit peered at her. “What else would the world be?” the spirit looked her up and down. “That you remain means you have not yet defeated your hunter. I wish you a glorious battle to come.”

“Thanks.” she said. “What kind of spirit are you? I've never met one like you before.”

“I am Valor,” it told her. “Honor and strength in battle—duels well-fought, blood well-spilt.”

She nodded. “Why are you here?”

“There is no reason I would not be here.”

“But what about a reason _to_ be here?”

“I am here because I wish to be here,” it narrowed its eyes. 

Kitranna looked around, and noticed the racks of weapons that surrounded Valor. She hadn't realized they were there before. She rubbed her thumb against her forefinger. “Could I have one of your weapons?” she asked. “It's hardly a fair fight against the demon if I just go at it with my bare hands.”

“I shall give you one if you agree to duel me for it,” Valor said. “Valor shall test your mettle as it should be tested.”

She looked at Valor sidelong. “I think it would make more sense if you help me fight the demon, instead of fighting me yourself,” she said. “I mean—come on, fighting me, a defenseless mortal, that doesn't seem very brave or fair, does it?”

Valor's back stiffened. “I am no demon, preying upon defenseless mortals!” it exclaimed. 

“Fine—then prove it. Help me fight the demon.”

Valor shook its head. “You are insolent, but your will is strong,” it told her. “Very well—you prove to me you have the strength to fight this demon. Go—prove your worth as you must. Defeat your enemy. I am confident that you will succeed.”

In Valor's hand, a mage staff appeared. He handed it to her, and she took it. 

It was light, far lighter than the staffs she was used to, and had a peculiar texture, as if she were holding light that had grown solid. It had a winged figurehead at the top, and grips formed where she held it.

“Thank you,” she said, and went on her way.

As she walked, she became aware of a strange heaviness at the back of her head. A demon was near. It wasn't close enough for her to tell what specific kind it was, but there was certainly something nearby.

Something flickered at the edge of her vision, and she looked down to see Mouse at her feet.

“Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Mouse said. “But...there's really nothing else for me to do. I might as well follow you.”

“So you can possess me when my guard's down?” she folded her arms. “No thank you.”

“I'm not a demon!”

“You're the only spirit here who's following me around. What else could you be?”

“Exactly what I say I am?”

“Nothing in the Fade is how it looks.”

“Except when it is. Remember what Valor said?”

“Do you seriously expect me to believe things told to me by a spirit in the Fade?”

“You took the weapon he gave you.”

“It's mine now, so I can trust it.”

“You're running out of time.”

Kitranna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Go away,” she said, more firmly this time. The Fade warped around them, and Mouse squeaked and ran off.

She smirked to herself, and continued on, looking for the demon she sought. She encountered more Wisps, and, in addition to that, spirits shaped like wolves and foxes. They were all hostile, but she didn't know if that was because she came here expecting a fight or some other reason.

She suddenly sensed the presence of something else. Not Mouse, or Valor, or the demon, but something..different. Something tired and slow, that made her thoughts run like syrup. 

At the end of one of the wandering paths, she found another spirit. Or rather, a demon.

The demon was enormous, and looked something like the pictures of bears she had seen in books, but covered in spikes. Its fur was a reddish color, more like a fox than a bear. It looked to be asleep, as it didn't so much at twitch when she approached. 

“So...you are the mortal being hunted?” it rumbled when she got close, making her jump. “Mm...old blood.”

She stood back as the demon pulled itself to its feet with a yawn. “No matter...the demon will get you eventually. Perhaps there will even be scraps left.”

“Old blood?” Kitranna asked. “What does that mean?”

“Begone,” it told her. “Surely you have better things to do than bother Sloth, mortal. I tire of you already.” it sunk back to the ground and laid its head on its paws.

“I'll leave you alone if you tell me how to defeat the demon,” Kitranna said. 

“You have a very nice staff,” Sloth told her. “Why would you need me? Go. Use your weapon. Be _valorous_.”

“Isn't there anything you could tell me?”

“I could tell you many things.” Sloth yawned again. “But it's so exhausting. Away with you now.”

“Maybe there's something I could do for you.” she pressed.

“Nothing, unless you wish to leave me alone, old blood.”

“What does that mean? What does 'old blood' mean?”

Sloth sighed. “Do they not teach your kind anything anymore?” Sloth closed its eyes, and thereafter, nothing she said could make it wake. 

So she turned, and left, to go and confront the demon. She encountered more Wisps and beings shaped like animals, and she finally came to the place where she felt the demon strongest. 

The place was another clearing, surrounded by the memory of fire. A Rage demon clawed its way out of the ground, dripping fire from its fingers and wide open mouth. 

“And so it comes to me at last,” the demon said, its head pointed in her direction. It had six spots of hot white light on its face instead of eyes. “Soon I shall see the land of the waking through your eyes, old blood—you shall be mine, body and soul.”

“I don't think so,” Kitranna said with a smirk.

She aimed a frost spell at it, and they began to fight. She found that if she used frost and ice-based spells, the demon had a very difficult time countering them. Finally, she succeeded, and the demon collapsed into a puddle of fire on the ground.

“You did it!” came Mouse's voice. She looked over her shoulder to see Mouse in his human shape standing just inside the circle of fire. “You actually did it!”

“Didn't I tell you to go away?” she said. 

“Things don't stick in the Fade,” he told her. “I've been here longer than you. I know how everything works.”

She didn't put her staff away. “This is too easy,” she said.

“That's because you're a true mage—one of the few. The others, they never had a chance. The Templars set them up to fail—”

“Like they did with you?” 

Mouse faltered. “...yes, like they did with me.” he quickly got his steam back. “But you, you can be so much more than you know--!”

“I really just want to be done with the test now,” she said. “I killed the demon. What else do I have to do?” she peered at him. “Are you stopping me leaving? What are you doing?”

Mouse tilted his head to one side. “You're a clever one, aren't you?” his features began to shift again, and something in his voice dropped away. “Simple killing is a warrior's job. The real dangers of the fade are preconceptions...careless trust... _pride_.”

He gleamed with a brilliant light, and he rose higher and higher over her head.

“Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end.”

Then everything was gone.


	2. Prescited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're coming up on the actual plot folks don't you worry 
> 
> for now; let's have some jowan action !

“Are you alright?”

Kitranna blinked her eyes open. Everything around her was dim and quiet, and blessedly solid.

“Say something, please!”

She was lying on her bed in the dormitories. Slowly, she pulled herself onto her elbows.

“Jowan...?” she croaked. Her mouth felt dry as paper.

“Oh, thank the Maker!” he exclaimed, and kneeled down by her bedside. 

Jowan was a human, about the same age as Kitranna. He had a heavy face and long dark hair that tended to hang in his eyes. 

“I'm glad you're alright,” he told her as she sat up. “They carried you in this morning. I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night!” he put a hand on her shoulder. He was shaking. 

She patted his hand. “I'm fine,” she said, her throat still dry. 

“It's just—you remember everyone who doesn't come back from the Harrowings,” he said, biting his lip. 

“Well, I came back,” she said. “And I'm fine, I promise.” she got to her feet. On a nearby desk there was a jug of water, and she took a swig straight out of it. 

“Kitranna!” Jowan exclaimed with a wince.

“What?”

“You don't even know who's drunk out of that!”

“Who cares?”

He sighed. “You're the same as ever...” he muttered, then grabbed onto her sleeve. “What was it like?” he asked. “The Harrowing? Was it dangerous? How hard was it?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, and tugged her sleeve out of his hold. “Jowan...”

“I know I'm not supposed to know, but—please, just a hint? Just a hint, and I'll stop asking!”

She rubbed a hand over her head. “You have to go into the Fade,” she told him. 

“Really? That's it?”

“You said you'd stop asking.”

“Fine, fine, sorry...” he looked at the ground, then back at her. “Are you sure you're alright?”

She smiled. “Positive.”

“Well...I suppose now you get to move to the Mage's quarters upstairs,” he folded his arms. “I'm stuck here and I don't know when they'll get me for my Harrowing...”

“I'm sure it'll be soon,” she assured him. “You've been here longer than me, they can't wait much longer.”

“That's just it!” he exclaimed. “I've been here for longer—what if they don't want to test me? What if they make me Tranquil?”

“They wouldn't do that,” she said, taking one of his hands and squeezing tightly. “They wouldn't.”

He looked away from her. “But—you know they do it to apprentices they think are too dangerous, or too stupid...”

“You're not stupid,” she told him. “And you're definitely not dangerous—they wouldn't do it, it's just...there's a lot of apprentices in our year, that's all.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn't even be worrying you with this...” he said.

“You're my friend,” she told him. “It's not a _worry_ at all. Well—it _is_ , a little bit. But don't feel bad about telling me--”

He pulled away from her. “I was supposed to tell you to go see Irving as soon as you woke up,” he said. “I'll see you later, alright? You shouldn't keep him waiting.”

She gave his hand one last squeeze and they parted. First Enchanter Irving's office was on one of the floors above the Apprentice's dormitories, and Kitranna had only been there a few times before. Most apprentices were called there when they got into trouble, which Kitranna liked to avoid. 

She walked through the dormitories, passing by other apprentices who muttered to each other when they saw her. It wasn't anything malicious, she knew—she had done the same thing when she saw other mages who'd only just passed their Harrowings. 

“Are you alright?” an apprentice stopped her to ask. She tall human girl who was a year or so younger than Kitranna. Another girl stood behind the apprentice, her arms folded. 

“What, are you best friends now or something?” the other girl asked. 

“I'm just curious!” the first apprentice said, then turned back to Kitranna. “One of the Templars, that blonde one, Cullen, said it was a quick, clean Harrowing--”

“I just woke up,” Kitranna said. “I'm fine, though. You know I can't tell you anything else about it...”

The other girl took the first girl's arm. “Come on,” she said. “I'm sure she has to see the First Enchanter or something.”

Kitranna left the dormitories and went through the library to go upstairs, to the mages' quarters. She passed several mages having lessons and skirted someone who was making a rather explosive mistake. 

Upstairs, she passed through the stockroom and the Tranquil who tended it, and past the mages' quarters where she was to move. One of the Templars, a young, blond human named Cullen, watched her as she passed and she ducked her head so she could hide her face.

Cullen watched her a lot. Some of the other apprentices thought he was in love with her, but she didn't like the idea of that much. She didn't like Templars as a rule, but for some reason the idea of Cullen particularly having some kind of feelings for her was unnerving, and she couldn't really put her finger on why.

She hurried past him, to go to Irving's office, which was already occupied. The Knight-Commander was there, as well as an unfamiliar human Kitranna didn't know.

“We've already sent more than enough mages to Ostagar,” said Knight-Commander Gregoire. He was still wearing his plate, but had discarded his sword somewhere. “Wynne, Uldred, most of the Senior Enchanters--”

“If the darkspawn threat is as great as it seems, we need to send as many as we can spare,” Irving was saying. 

“We have already committed enough of our own to the war effort--”

“Our own?” Irving snorted. “Since when have you felt such kinship with mages, Gregoire? Or are you simply afraid to let the mages out from under Chantry supervision, where we might use our Maker-given powers?”

“How dare you suggest--”

“Gentlemen, please,” said the unfamiliar man. He was dark, like Kitranna, and dressed in armor with no insignia on it. “First Enchanter, I believe someone is here to see you.” he gestured towards Kitranna, who hovered in the doorway.

“...hello,” Kitranna said.

Irving managed a smile and turned to her. “Ah, if it isn't our new sister in the Circle,” he said. “Come, child.”

Kitranna eyed Gregoire and stepped closer. 

Duncan stepped forward. “Is this...?”

Irving nodded. “Yes, this is she.”

Kitranna looked between the two of them. 

“Well Irving,” Gregoire said, sneering. “You're obviously busy, so we will discuss this later.”

“Of course,” Irving's lip curled and his eyes were hard as he stared at Gregoire's back as the Templar left the room. “Where was I...? Ah, yes. Surana, this is Duncan, of the Gray Wardens.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kitranna said. 

“You've heard about the war brewing in the south, I expect?” Irving asked.

Kitranna rubbed her thumb over her forefinger. “Not much,” she said, her brow furrowing. “Just some things about darkspawn...First Enchanter, what is this about?”

“Duncan is recruiting mages to join the army at Ostagar,” Irving explained. 

“It's bad enough we need an army?” Kitranna glanced at Duncan. “I know some of the senior enchanters went, but...”

“The darkspawn are invading,” Duncan said, his tone dark. “We need all the help we can get, especially from the Circle.”

“Is there going to be a Blight?” she'd read about Blights before. There had only been four, but they had all been terrible, ravaging the various lands they had erupted from. 

“Possibly,” Duncan said. “I fear that if we do not drive them back there will be.”

“Duncan, you worry the lass with this talk of darkspawn and Blights,” Irving admonished. “This is meant to be a happy day for her.”

“We live in troubled times, my friend.”

“We should seize moments of levity, especially in troubled times,” Irving said.

“But, First Enchanter--” Kitranna protested. 

“The Harrowing is behind you,” Irving said. “Take comfort in that, at least. Your phylactery has been sent to Denerim. You are now officially a mage of the Circle.”

Duncan's eyes darkened at the mention of phylacteries, and he folded his arms, but otherwise did not say anything. 

Irving retrieved a bundle of cloth from the top of his desk, as well as a mages' staff that had been leaning against it. “I present you with your Enchanter's robes, your staff, and a ring bearing the Circle's insignia. Bear them proudly, for you have earned them.”

“Thank you, First Enchanter,” Kitranna said, accepting the gifts. She tucked the robes under one arm and placed the ring in one of her pockets. She held the staff loosely in one hand, not having anywhere else to put it. 

“It goes without saying that you shall not discuss the Harrowing with those who have not undergone the Rite,” Irving said. “Now then—Duncan, I believe you wanted to speak with her?”

“I did,” Duncan said. “Walk with me, please,” he told Surana. 

“Alright,” Kitranna said slowly. “I need to take these things to my new quarters, anyway.”

They left the First Enchanter's office. 

“Do you know Warden—well, Enchanter, I suppose, Fiona?” Duncan asked her. 

Kitranna frowned. “I don't think so...”

“Ah, well, she was an Enchanter with Montsimmard Circle.”

“Was?”

“She is a Warden now—technically speaking. Her case is...unique.”

“Why do you bring her up?”

“She is an elf, like yourself, and a mage of great skill. I had thought that perhaps the other Enchanters would make note of her, but I suppose not.” he frowned. 

Kitranna shrugged. “People try to focus on their own work,” she said. “Keep their heads down, you know. Keep safe.”

“Fiona has expressed a similar sentiment.” Duncan sighed. “Fiona, as well as many of the other mages recruited into the Wardens, has said that the Wardens provide them a freedom they could not find in the Circle.”

Kitranna looked up at him. Although she was very tall for an elf, he was still several inches taller than her. “The First Enchanter said you were recruiting. Do you want to recruit me?”

Duncan hummed. “I am unsure. If you wish, you could almost certainly join the king's army to go to Ostagar, but the Gray Wardens themselves need numbers as well. However, you have only just passed your Harrowing—you are still very young.”

Kitranna shrugged. “Maybe I could join the army. I don't know. I'd have to ask the First Enchanter. I could be a Warden, I suppose. I don't really know.”

They stopped outside the guest quarters. “I will be here for at least several more days,” he told her. “If you wish to join either the army or the Wardens, come to me, and I will see what I can do.”

“I will,” she told him, and left him. 

She almost ran straight into Jowan, who was hurrying up the hall. 

“Jowan!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you done talking to Irving?” he asked. “I'm glad I caught up with you!”

“Yeah, I'm done for now—what is it?”

“I've been looking for you for ages!” he told her. “I need to talk to you—not here. Somewhere safe.”

She took his sleeve. “Jowan, what's the matter?” she asked.

“Not here,” he hissed. “Just—come with me.”

“Alright—I still need to put these away, though,” she said, holding out her new robes. 

“Alright, alright, but hurry!”

She dropped off the robes in her new quarters, but hung on to the staff, just in case. Jowan dragged her to an isolated corner of the chapel, to meet with a redheaded girl in laysister robes. Kitranna had seen the Sister around a few times at services, but never spoken to her. 

Most of the Chantry personnel didn't speak with the mages, although there were always Sisters and laysisters in the Tower on a semi-regular basis. 

Kitranna crossed her arms and eyed the redhead. “Alright, Jowan,” she said, looking at her friend. “What's going on?”

“Remember when I told you about the girl I met?” he asked, then reached out and took the redhead's hand. “This is her. This is Lily.”

Kitranna looked at both of them in silence for a long minute. “Jowan...” Kitranna sighed and put her face in her hands.

“What?” Jowan said, affronted.

“This is a terrible, terrible idea,” she hissed. “You--” she pointed at Lily. “You should know better! Both of you should!”

“I haven't taken my vows yet,” Lily said. “I know, I know it's dangerous, but--”

“Dangerous, nothing! You could get Jowan _killed_!”

“Kitranna--” Jowan started. 

“You know what the Templars would do if they thought—if they thought a mage had—had hurt a Sister, you _know_ what would happen--”

“Kitranna!” Jowan hissed.

“ _What_?”

“It's too late to be worrying about that now,” Jowan said. “They're going to make me Tranquil anyway!”

Kitranna froze. “They're going to what?” she gasped. “No—no, they can't—how do you know? Are you sure?”

“I saw the document on Gregoire's table,” Lily said, grabbing Jowan's hand and squeezing. “Irving had already signed it.”

Kitranna felt the blood drain out of her face. She began to pace. “It's fine, it's fine,” she muttered. “We'll—we'll fix it, we can go to Irving, and--” 

“We can't do that,” Jowan said. “Irving already signed it—they won't undo it now!”

“You have to run,” Kitranna rounded on them. “Is that the plan? Are you going to escape?”

“Yes,” Jowan said. “Will you help us?”

“Of course!” she said. “Of course I will!”

“My phylactery is still here—if we find it and destroy it, Lily and I can escape!”

Kitranna ran a hand through her hair and nodded. “Yeah, yes, alright—they keep the phylacteries down in the dungeon, don't they?”

“I can get us into the repository,” Lily said. “But there's a problem—there are two locks on the chamber door, and the two keys belong to the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter.”

“There's got to be some other way to get in,” Kitranna said, chewing on her thumbnail. 

“I saw a rod of fire melt through a lock once,” Jowan said. “Perhaps we could get one from the storeroom?”

“Yes, yeah, we could do that,” Kitranna said, seizing upon the idea immediately. “I'll get one—I'm an enchanter now, I can ask for things from the storeroom.”

The plan was that Kitranna would go to the stockroom, ask for the rod, then bring it back to Lily and Jowan so they could use it. The plan ran into a snag when Kitranna discovered that she needed a senior enchanter's signature to get the rod, but she managed, with the help of a convenient infestation of spiders. 

Finally, the three of them stood in front of the door known as the Victim's Door, the entrance to the dungeons of the Tower. 

The door was enormous, and, as Lily explained, built with two hundred and seventy seven planks, one for each original Templar.

“It is a reminder of the danger all those cursed with magic pose,” Lily said. 

Both Jowan and Kitranna looked at her, but didn't comment. 

“How do we get past it?” Kitranna asked. She peered at the door—she could feel some kind of warding spell on it, but she couldn't identify what the spell was.

“I have the password from the Chantry,” Lily said. “And one of you needs to cast a spell on it after I use the password.” she turned to the door. “'Sword of the Maker, tears of the Fade,” she looked over her shoulder. “Now one of you.”

Kitranna threw a simple arcane bolt at the door, unlocking it and letting them inside. Then they came to the second door, a much smaller and less impressive one than the first. 

“This is it,” Jowan said. “Quick, use the rod on it, melt the locks off!”

Kitranna held up the fire rod, and attempted to use it, but unfortunately, it didn't work.

“What's the matter?” Lily asked, leaning over Jowan's shoulder. “Why isn't it working?”

“There's wards all over this thing,” Jowan said. “I can't cast any spells—there must be a ward against magic!”

Lily sucked a breath in through her teeth. “No wonder the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter use ordinary keys—magical keys don't work!” she covered her face with her hands. “That's it then—we're finished, we can't get in!”

“I'm not giving up yet,” Kitranna looked down the hall. “Come on, there might be another way around.”

“What if there isn't?” Jowan said. He'd gone pale, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Then we'll figure something else out,” she said. “We don't have any other choices, do we?”

“No,” Jowan said. “No, we don't. I'll take any chance I can get.” he and Lily took each others' hands as the three of them continued down further into the dungeons. 

The dungeons were dank, dark, and twisting, filled with strange storerooms and old cells. 

Jowan and Lily drew closer together as they passed by the cells. “They took me here when I first came to the tower,” Jowan said. 

“Me, too,” Kitranna said, gripping her staff tighter. 

“That's awful!” Lily said.

Both Jowan and Kitranna looked at her. “Didn't you know?” Jowan said. “I thought for sure you knew—they always take new mages into the dungeons before they do anything else.”

“Even if they're children?” Lily said.

“Yes, even if they're children.”

Lily shuddered and closed her eyes, clinging close to Jowan. “This is too harsh, even for a mage,” she said. 

Kitranna bit the inside of her cheek, and gave Jowan a sidelong glance, but didn't comment. 

They ran into living statues and deepstalkers, and even a spider or two. The place was an absolute death trap. Finally, they came to a peculiar room which housed a large collection of magical artifacts. 

On one side of the room, there was a marked weakness in the wall. 

“Look, that wall's about to come down at any moment,” Jowan pointed out. “Do you think it might lead into the phylactery repository? It feels like we've gone round in circles...”

“It couldn't hurt to try,” Kitranna said with a shrug. She, Lily and Jowan shoved the bookcase in front of the wall out of the way, and began looking around for something to knock down the wall with. 

A peculiar statue in the corner caught Kitranna's eye. It gave off a strong magical aura, the Fade around it warped and twisted, and she and Jowan both approached it. 

“There's something odd about this statue...” Jowan said. Lily came up behind them, not getting too close.

“Wonder what it is?” Kitranna said. 

_Greetings,_ a voice came from the statue.

All three of them jumped. 

“Maker's breath, did it just say something?” Jowan exclaimed. 

_I am the essence and spirit of Eleni Zinovia,_ the statue said. The voice was quiet and smooth, almost a whisper. _Once consort and advisor to Archon Valarius. Prophecy, my crime. Turned to stone for foretelling the fall of my lord's house._

“Who was Archon Valerius?” Kitranna asked, glancing at Jowan.

“I'm not sure,” Jowan said. “The Archons are the lords of the Imperium, aren't they? But I've never heard of a Valerius.”

_Forever shall you stand on the threshold of my proud fortress, he said, and tell your lies to all who pass._ The statue sighed. _But my lord found death at the hands of his enemies, and his once proud fortress crumbled to dust, as I foretold._

“Don't listen to it,” Lily said, grabbing tight onto Jowan's sleeve. “This is a wicked thing—born of evil Tevinter arts!”

Kitranna ignored her. “I wonder how she got here?” she said. “Is she still alive?”

_Weep not for me, child of the old blood,_ the statue said. _Stone they made me, stone I am. Eternal and unfeeling. And I shall endure._

“Old blood?” Kitranna frowned and leaned forward. “What does that mean?”

“Ambiguous rubbish,” Jowan said. “It could mean anything, I can do it too. 'The sun grows dark, but lo, here comes the dawn!'”

“But in the Fade, the spirits--”

“Stop talking to it, both of you!” Lily urged. “We need to go, anyway!”

They turned away from the statue. 

_You are right though, child,_ said the statue, her voice even quieter now. _The dawn will come. The sun is already upon the horizon._

“What?” Kitranna and Jowan both turned, but Lily took both of their arms now.

“Come _on_ ,” Lily insisted. “We need to go.”

They knocked the wall down using a large, solid, and probably priceless artifact, and to their great relief found themselves in the repository. It was absolutely freezing inside, the walls coated in a thin sheen of ice. Runes for frost and cold were scrawled on the walls and even the floor. 

“We're here,” Kitranna said. “Now—Jowan, find your phylactery, and quickly!”

The phylacteries were different vials of all shapes and sizes, all labeled with different names. Some were very old, and Kitranna thought she recognized one or two names of mages who were dead or Tranquil. 

They found the phylactery, helpfully labeled with Jowan's name.

“So fragile...” Jowan said, picking the little bottle up and turning it over in his hands. “I can't believe it—it's so small...”

“Hurry up, break it,” Kitranna said. She looked around and folded her arms. “It's too bad mine's not here,” she muttered. “They sent it to Denerim already. I could have come with you...”

Jowan patted her shoulder. He held out the phylactery, and dropped it on the ground, where it smashed into thousands of pieces. Lily let out a breath of relief. 

“Come on,” she said. “Now we need to get out of here!” she looped her arm in Jowan's, and they started towards the door. From this side of the door, it opened easily, and they hurried out. 

“How are you going to get out of the Tower?” Kitranna asked. “There's still the Templars—are you going to fight your way out?”

Lily and Jowan looked at each other as the three of them trod up the steps. 

“We were going to--” Jowan began as they exited the dungeons, but he stopped. 

Five Templars, plus Gregoire and Irving, stood at the mouth of the dungeons, the Templars in full armor. 

“So what you said was true, Irving,” Gregoire growled. 

“Gregoire...” Lily breathed, and both she and Jowan stepped back.

“An initiate conspiring with a blood mage,” Gregoire shook his head. “I'm disappointed, Lily.”

“He's not a blood mage!” Lily exclaimed, grabbing Jowan's hand. 

Gregoire ignored her outburst. “She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind,” he commented to the other Templars. “Not a thrall of the maleficar, then. You are right, Irving—the initiate betrayed the Chantry, and they will not let this go unpunished.” 

The blood drained out of both Lily and Jowan's faces, and they moved back more, almost tripping over the dungeon stairs. 

“And this one,” Gregoire turned a disgusted gaze to Kitranna, whose hands shook as she met his gaze. “Newly a mage, and already flouting the rules of the Circle.”

“I--” Kitranna began, but Jowan stepped in front of her. 

“It's not her fault!” He exclaimed. “This was my idea!”

“Jowan, no--” Kitranna said, grabbing his arm. 

“Enough,” Gregoire raised his hands. “As Knight-Commander of the Templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death.” he looked at Lily. “This initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar.”

The Templars moved forward, and Lily began to sob. “No—not there,” she begged. “Please, no--”

“ _No_ \--” Jowan cried. “No, I won't let you touch them--” he pulled a knife from his belt and slashed open his arm, blood pouring out of the wound. He raised his hands, and the Templars all at once collapsed, rendering the chamber quiet again. “Come on,” he urged the other two, turning first to Kitranna, then Lily. “Come on, we need to go--”

Lily backed away, shaking her head. “By the Maker...” she whispered. “Blood magic—Jowan, you said you'd never—you'd never--”

“They were going to _hurt_ us,” Jowan said, his voice cracking. “Lily, I couldn't let them--”

“How could you--” she looked down at the knife. “You were _prepared_ , you already knew how--”

“Only a little!” he said. “I thought—I thought it would make me better at magic--”

“Blood magic is _evil_ , Jowan--”

“I'll give it up, all magic,” Jowan said, holding out his hands, which still dripped with blood. “Please, Lily, I just want to be with you—I want to leave this place--”

“I trusted you...” Lily said. “I was ready to sacrifice everything for you—stay away from me, _blood mage_ \--”

Kitranna wrapped her hand around one of Jowan's arms. “ _Fine!_ ” she exclaimed, her voice hitching. “Fine, you—you Chantry _cow_ , fine, we don't need you, Jowan, come on, before they wake up--”

“Kitranna--” he turned to her. “No, no, you have to stay, they'll catch you if you run, they still have your phylactery--”

“I can't let you leave on your own!” she gripped him so tightly she was sure to leave a bruise. “They'll find you, they'll hurt you—Jowan, _please_ \--”

He tried to disentangle himself from her. “No, Kitranna, they'll find you—let me go, I can do it, I—I'll be alright, I promise--”

The Templars began to stir. 

“I have to go,” he said. “I—I'm sorry--” he pushed her away and ran, bolting for the door, blasting it open with another spell conjured from the blood spilling down his arm, then he was gone. 

Kitranna was left standing alone, her robes stained with blood. She rounded on Lily. 

“You said you _loved_ him,” she snarled. “You _said_ \--”

“I cannot love a blood mage!” Lily exclaimed. “They should have—they _should have_ made him Tranquil, if he knew blood magic--!”

Kitranna smacked her. Lily's mouth opened in a gasp, and she clutched her cheek. The sound of the slap echoed in the quiet hall.

Kitranna covered her face. She didn't know what to do. 

Irving was the first to stir, getting painfully to his feet. “What in the name of the Maker...” he mumbled. Lily was immediately by his side, helping him up. When he was on his feet, she backed away again. 

“I knew it,” Gregoire grumbled, coming to as well. “Blood magic—but to overcome so many! I never thought him capable of such power...”

Kitranna folded her arms and turned away. 

“None of us expected this. Are you alright, Gregoire?” Irving said. 

“As good as can be expected, given the circumstances!” Gregoire clenched his fists. “If you had let me act sooner, none of this would have happened! Now we have a blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down! Where is the girl—the initiate?” he cast about, searching for Lily.

“I—I am here, Ser,” Lily said, knotting her hands together. 

“You helped a blood mage!” Gregoire thundered. “Look at all he's hurt!”

“You hurt him first,” Kitranna mumbled. 

Everyone turned to look at her.

“What was that?” Gregoire snapped. 

Kitranna balled her hands into fists. “ _You were going to hurt him first!_ ” she shouted. “ _You were going to make him Tranquil!”_

“And you aided a blood mage!” Gregoire exclaimed. 

“Jowan never hurt anyone in his life, all he wanted was to be a good mage, and _you_ forced his hand!” she said. 

“Enough,” Irving said. “This argument will get us nowhere. You were in the magical repository—did you take any of the artifacts?”

“ _Artifacts_ are what you care about?” she was almost screeching now, and her skin felt hot and dry, as if she were charging a fireball. 

“That repository is locked for a _reason_!” Gregoire growled. “What are we to do with you? Your...antics have made a mockery of this Circle!”

Kitranna took a deep breath, ready to shout again, when she was interrupted by Duncan's cool voice.

“Knight-Commander, First Enchanter, if I may, you are aware I am recruiting for the Gray Wardens as well as the king's army.”

Duncan strolled into the room, to step between Kitranna and Irving and Gregoire. 

“What does that have to do with this?” Gregoire snapped. “If anything, this incident merely proves that we need a closer watch over the mages, not that we should be sending them off to fight darkspawn!”

Duncan put a protective hand on Kitranna's shoulder, making her jump in surprise. “Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I wish to bring her into the Gray Wardens,” he said. 

“Absolutely not,” Gregoire said. “She has flagrantly disregarded Circle rules, aided a blood mage, and--”

“And showed great dedication to the goal of her friend, above all else,” Duncan interrupted. “Such dedication and loyalty is an asset to the Gray Wardens.”

“I refuse,” Gregoire said. “This matter will be investigated and I will not release her to the Wardens.”

“Worse things than blood mages plague this world, Knight-Commander,” Duncan admonished. His hand tightened on Kitranna's shoulder. “You know that. In any case, it is not your decision any longer—I invoke the Right of Conscription. I take this mage under my wing and accept full responsibility for her. She is no longer in your charge.”

“This mage does not deserve a place in the Wardens!” Gregoire raged.

“It is out of our hands, Gregoire,” Irving said. Kitranna wasn't sure, but she thought there was a smirk playing about the corners of his mouth. He looked at her. “You have an opportunity few even dream of. Do not squander it.”

“You _cannot_ \--” Gregoire began again, but Duncan cut him off, addressing Kitranna directly. 

“We need to make our way to Ostagar as quickly as possible,” he said, steering her away from both Gregoire and Irving. “The king's army is camped there and we are several weeks behind.”

“How are we getting there?” Kitranna asked, glancing back over her shoulder at Gregoire and Irving, then looking back at Duncan. “I've never been out of the Tower before.”

Duncan frowned in thought. “Never?”

“No.”

“Hm...this journey may be harder than you are used to, then.”

Kitranna grimaced and held her arms. “I don't care. Anything to leave here.”

They quickly acquired the supplies they needed, gathering Kitranna's sparse things and Duncan's belongings, then headed out of the Tower without so much as a word to Irving, Gregoire, or anyone else.


	3. Abyssopelagic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi folks, let's get the ball actively rolling now, shall we?
> 
> assume morrigan is wearing an actual shirt. that's one of the things that makes this an au

The Tower stood on an island in Lake Calenhad. There had once been a bridge off of the island, and the ruins of it still stood, but it had been collapsed long ago. In order to leave the island, they had to take a boat across the lake. 

Kitranna had never been on a boat before, even a small one such as this, across even a short distance. She gripped the sides tightly, not sure if she liked it. 

They landed on the opposite shore, the Templar who rowed them across giving Duncan a dark look before leaving. 

Duncan was a decent traveling companion, as far as Kitranna knew. She had no means by which to judge these things. She was astounded by the novelty of traveling; even such things like the open sky overhead were new to her. She almost expected to fall off the world. 

She cut her hair the third day of travel. Her hair was long, reaching the middle of her back, thick and heavy. She had frequently used it to avoid the gaze of Templars back in the tower, but now it had no such use, and kept getting in the way. 

So, she borrowed Duncan's knife and cut it all off, hacking it as close to her scalp as she could manage with only a knife. 

Duncan hardly made note of so drastic a change other than to raise his eyebrows. 

They didn't run into much trouble on the road. Kitranna wasn't sure what to expect—bandits, highwaymen, wild beasts, perhaps Templars coming to drag them back—but she saw none of these things.

“Most will not attack a Gray Warden,” Duncan explained when she asked.

“But what if they can't tell you're a Warden?” she asked. “Don't you just look like a man in armor?”

“Most of those who prey on travelers are looking for targets who would be easy to take advantage of. Highwaymen and bandits aren't usually willing to attack men in armor.”

People stared at her when they stopped in villages. She wasn't sure if it was because she was an elf, or a mage, or simply because she was traveling with such a heavily armed and armored human, but either way it made the back of her neck itch. 

Duncan regularly sent letters and reports ahead of them to Ostagar, to keep the Wardens informed of their progress. Kitranna read a few of these reports, but none of them were very interesting. 

It took them several weeks to get to Ostagar. Duncan explained to her that Ostagar itself was an enormous ruin, a fortress that had been used against the wilder folk of the Korcari Wilds. Now, they used it as a base by which to fight back against the Darkspawn. 

Someone was already there to greet them when they arrived.

“Ho there, Duncan!”

A blonde human man in gleaming plate armor approached them. He was a few inches shorter than Duncan, but built more broadly. 

“King Cailan?” Duncan raised his eyebrows, surprised. “I didn't expect...”

“A royal welcome?” Cailan grinned and clapped Duncan on the shoulder. “I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun.”

“Not if I could help it, your Majesty.”

“Then I'll have the mighty Duncan by my side after all. Glorious.” Cailan looked at Kitranna. “The other Wardens told me you found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?”

“Allow me to introduce you, Majesty,” Duncan said. 

“There's no need to be so formal, Duncan,” Cailan said, tossing another careless smile in Kitranna's direction. “We'll be shedding blood together soon enough, I'm sure. Ho there, friend! Might I know your name?” 

“Kitranna Surana.” she told him. “...Majesty?” she added, after Duncan glanced at her with raised eyebrows.

“Pleased to meet you!” he either didn't notice the slip with his honorific or didn't care. “The Gray Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I, for one, am glad to help them. I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi. I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?” 

“I hope so—I don't think I'd be much help if I didn't.”

Cailan laughed. “I'm sorry to cut this short,” he said. “But Loghain needs to see me,” he rolled his eyes. “Surely we need to discuss more battle strategies.”

“Loghain is merely being cautious, your Majesty,” Duncan pointed out. 

Cailan sighed. “We've won three battles with these creatures and tomorrow will be no different,” he said. “This strategizing is desperately dull—here's hoping the battle will be more exciting.”

He gave them one last grin and left.

“He's confident,” Kitranna pointed out, watching him go. “That's good, right?”

“Mm,” Duncan grunted. “We _have_ won the last several confrontations with the darkspawn.”

Kitranna frowned. “You don't sound too convinced.” 

“A true Blight would be catastrophic,” he said. “Even if we drove the darkspawn back, a Blight would certainly wreak havoc on the area. Cailan wants for glory, but I am not sure his confidence is well-placed.”

They followed Cailan's path into the ruins, and came to a bridge that crossed over into the main camp.

“I should meet with Loghain and Cailan as well,” Duncan said, facing her. “We have several other Warden recruits joining us, as well as one of our number who is overseeing your Joining. Look for Alistair, a human man who wields a blade.”

Kitranna nodded, and they parted. 

The camp was loud and crowded, filled with many different warriors from a variety of different places. Kitranna honestly had no idea where to even begin looking for Alistair. 

She passed by a few tents that were flanked by Templars and made a face. Her immediate instinct was to hunch her shoulders and scurry past, but then she clenched her fists.

She was a Warden recruit. They couldn't do anything to her--at least, not without incurring a great deal of unwanted attention. She walked past them holding her back straight.

Going by the tents, she spotted a mage she knew. An older woman hovered several yards away from a Templar, looking over her mages' staff. She had short white hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wore a red robe. 

“Enchanter Wynne!” Kitranna exclaimed. The woman looked up. 

“Apprentice,” Wynne smiled, and set the staff down. “Oh—no, you are an Enchanter as well now, are you not?”

Kitranna nodded. “I did my Harrowing soon after you left.”

“I didn't realize Gregoire was still allowing mages out of the Tower,” Wynne said. “Much less someone who has only recently passed their Harrowing...”

“I came with Duncan,” Kitranna explained. “The Gray Warden.”

Wynne raised her eyebrows. “You are a Warden recruit?”

Kitranna nodded. 

“My word, that's a great honor,” Wynne said, sounding impressed. “Why did he choose you?”

“I--” Kitranna opened her mouth, then paused. “I'm not sure,” she said. She wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to relay the entire tale to Wynne. She was a pleasant enough woman, but her loyalty lay more with the Circle than with her fellow mages inside it. “He said I was...loyal. Don't know what convinced him, really.”

Wynne furrowed her brow. “Well, I offer you the best of luck,” she said. 

“Well—actually, I could use a bit more than luck right now,” she said. I'm looking for a Warden named Alistair,” Kitranna said. “He's a human man with a sword. Do you know anyone like that?”

Wynne chuckled. “I know quite a large number of people like that,” she said. 

“Anyone specifically named Alistair?” Kitranna pressed. “A Warden?”

Wynne shook her head. “I'm sorry, I've been busy here,” she said. “I did run into one of the other Warden-recruits, a man named Daveth,” she pointed towards one of the ruined buildings. “He went in that direction. Perhaps you will find Alistair there.”

“Thanks.”

She left Wynne and wandered around the camp some more. She walked past a smith, a Chantry Mother leading a sermon, and a makeshift infirmary and still found no one who seemed like Alistair. 

She came across a kennel and aided the man in charge with a sick dog. He told her that if she was going out to the Wilds anytime soon, to keep an eye out for a particular kind of flower, one that might help the dog recover.

Eventually, in one of the more intact ruins, she came across a human man and a man in Circle robes arguing with each other. 

“Jeffers?” Kitranna exclaimed, recognizing the man in robes. 

The mage stopped and turned to her, squinted for a moment, then gasped. “Surana? What are you doing here?”

“I came with Duncan, one of the Gray Wardens,” she said. They both turned away from the other man, towards each other. “When did you get here? I thought you'd gone to another Circle.”

“Weeks ago,” he said. “I came with Uldred—did you really come with the Warden? You're still an apprentice, aren't you? What in the name of the Maker was Irving thinking--”

“I had my Harrowing,” Kitranna assured him. 

“But you're still so _young_ \--”

“Wynne seemed to be fine with me being here,” Kitranna said, folding her arms. 

“Excuse me,” the man in armor said, cutting between them. “You came with Duncan?” he asked Kitranna. 

“Yeah...”

“Oh, then you must be the new recruit!” he exclaimed. “Sorry, I should have recognized you.”

“Are you Alistair?” she asked. 

“That's me.”

“I've been looking all over the camp for you,” she said. “Duncan told me to find you.”

“So, you were meant to be meeting with her when you were bothering me?” Jeffers demanded of Alistair. 

“I didn't know she was here,” Alistair said, but Jeffers huffed a sigh. 

“You,” Jeffers said, pointing at Kitranna. “Look out for yourself, alright? Be careful.”

“I will be.” she assured him.

“Good.” Jeffers turned back to Alistair. “I will speak to the Revered Mother if I must,” he growled, and left them. 

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together,” Alistair said. 

“It's not like you were being much help,” Kitranna said. 

Alistair rubbed the back of his head. “So...you're the recruit from the Circle?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, if he was a friend of yours...but none of the mages like the Wardens very much, you see, we don't get along very well.”

“Right.” Kitranna folded her arms. 

“Well...allow me to introduce myself. I'm Alistair, the newest Gray Warden—but I expect you know that already.”

“Kitranna Surana.”

“Right, well, as the junior member of the Order, I'll be accompanying you as you prepare for the Joining,” he explained. 

“Why can't I prepare on my own? Duncan never explained how the Joining works.”

“Can't tell you,” Alistair said. “Joining's a secret. Duncan will explain more, but as for me, I can't tell you anything.”

Kitranna rolled her eyes. More secret rituals—lovely. 

“The last secret ritual I did had me fight a demon,” she told him.

He blinked. “Why did you fight a demon?”

“Can't tell you that. It's a secret and all. I just want to know, am I going to fight a demon or not?”

He considered for a moment. “...No, probably not.”

"Oh. Well, it can't be all bad, then, can it?”

Alistair raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn't be so sure.” he rubbed the back of his head. “Well, now I need to round up the other two, and we can get started.”

They found the other two recruits, Ser Jory and Daveth, and went to meet up with Duncan. Daveth kept staring at Kitranna, his eyes shifting from her ears to her staff, but he said nothing. 

“So, what are we doing?” Daveth asked once they were all together. They had all gathered by an enormous pyre near the edge of camp. 

Duncan explained that they were to go out to the Wilds and retrieve three vials of Darkspawn blood, one for each recruit. Afterwards, they were to go and find old documents that were housed in a locked chest in a ruin. 

“What is the blood for?” Jory asked. 

“It is necessary for the Joining,” Duncan said. “Any more than that I cannot tell you.”

“It isn't blood magic, is it?” Jory said, frowning. 

“Even if it was, it would not matter, for we are not beholden by the laws of the Chantry.” Duncan explained. “Whether it is blood magic or not, what we do is necessary for the good of all people.”

Jory and Daveth glanced at each other, then at Kitranna, who didn't look at them. To her, it sounded like the Joining would technically involve blood magic, but it wasn't a particular concern for her. She was reasonably sure they weren't going to sacrifice a baby or anything.

With Alistair, they left for the Wilds. Duncan was to stay behind and continue meeting with the King and his generals, to discuss what would happen in the battle tomorrow. 

So, the four of them set off, and left the safety of the camp for the Wilds. Kitranna kept on the lookout for the flower the master of the kennel had requested.

The Wilds were swampy, damp, and immediately there was the coppery smell of blood on the wind, although no one could identify where it came from. It put them all on edge. There were ruins half-sunken in the swamp, enormous stone buildings of ages long past. 

“Who left all these buildings?” Jory asked, staring at one as they walked by. 

“Ostagar is a Tevinter ruin,” Kitranna said. 

“Tevinters, this far south?” Daveth said. 

“It's true,” said Alistair. “Centuries ago, but yeah, the Tevinters came this far south. I hear there's some elvhen and dwarf ruins around here too, but I don't know much about them.”

“Elvhen ruins?” Daveth snorted. “Since when did the elves leave ruins? This isn't Dalish country.”

“There's lots of elvhen ruins,” Kitranna said. “Just no elvhen roads.”

“Why's that?”

“I don't know,” Kitranna admitted. “That's just what the history books I've read told me. There's lots of isolated elvhen ruins, all over the continent, but there's no roads connecting them like there are with the dwarf ruins.”

“I didn't know any elves built anything, except for the Dalish, of course,” Jory said. “And even then they're not exactly builders, are they?”

“The elvhen lived here before humans did,” Kitranna said. “Didn't you know that? Before there were humans or vashothari here, there were elves and dwarves.”

“Is that so?” Daveth said. “That can't be right.”

“That's what the histories say,” Kitranna repeated. 

They continued on into the Wilds, the smell of blood growing stronger. They fought a pack of wolves, which made Jory and Alistair both concerned.

“Wolves aren't usually this aggressive, even out here,” Jory said, a frown appearing between his eyebrows. “I mean—they _can_ be, but it's not even autumn yet, and it's the middle of the day.”

“It could be they had the Blight,” Alistair suggested. “It makes men into darkspawn, but it can do it to animals too—if it doesn't kill you. It makes everything more aggressive either way. Not for long, of course, but it does.”

Further into the swamps, they finally encountered a group of darkspawn and chased them off—the darkspawn had been attacking a scout, who was clearly very gravely wounded. 

“Gray Wardens?” the scout groaned as Jory kneeled down and tried to do what he could for the bleeding man. 

“Well,” Alistair said. “He's not half as dead as he looks.”

Jory shot a glare Alistair's way, but let the scout speak.

“My band was attacked by darkspawn,” the scout said. “They came out of the ground—please, help me! I've got to—get back to camp--”

“Here,” Jory said, helping to bandage his wounds as best he could. When the scout could get to his feet, he left as fast as he could. Jory shook his head. “An entire patrol group, killed by darkspawn?”

“Calmly, ser Jory,” Alistair said. “We'll be fine if we're careful.”

“Those soldiers were careful, and darkspawn still overwhelmed them. How many can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire _army_ in these forests.”

“There's darkspawn about, but we're not in any danger of walking into the bulk of the horde.” Alistair assured him.

Both Daveth and Kitranna looked sharply at Alistair. 

“How do you know?” Jory asked. “I'm not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back.”

“Where else are we supposed to get darkspawn blood?” Kitranna pointed out.

Jory sighed. “Do we really need it that badly?”

“Yes,” Alistair said. We really do. A bit of fear is natural—few relish meeting Darkspawn up close. I know I don't.”

“It's not so bad,” Kitranna said, and all the men turned to stare at her. 

“...right,” Alistair said. “Because being attacked by Darkspawn is just such a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.”

Kitranna shrugged. “Could be worse.”

“How?” Daveth asked.

“It could be demons. Those get into your head,” she informed them, tapping her temple. “They can possess you and get inside your dreams. Darkspawn are just like...bears or...bandits.”

Everyone continued to stare at her.

“Alright, disregarding that piece of...frightening information,” Alistair said after a moment. “Know this; all Gray Wardens can sense Darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here.”

“See, ser knight,” Daveth told Jory. “We might die, but we'll be warned about it first.” 

“This is...reassuring?” Jory said.

“It's always good to be prepared,” Kitranna said with a shrug. 

“That doesn't mean I'm here to make this easy, however,” Alistair piped up. “So let's get a move on.”

They continued on into the Wilds, coming across more aggressive wolves and a rabid dog or two. There were no more scouts, and the smell of blood on the air became heavier, although it was at least half an hour before they saw the first Darkspawn.

The Darkspawn brought with them a stench so foul that they almost didn't need Alistair to tell them when the beasts were approaching. They brought the smell of blood, but there was also a sour smell of filth and dirt and death, something that could hardly be described. 

They were twisted humanoid shapes that resembled the visages of people, but not quite. They were fanged and had mottled skin in green and sickly gray and yellow, and dressed in patchwork armor. 

Most of them wielded blades, some with crossbows or longbows, but they did encounter one that had magic as they pushed further into the Wilds. 

They came across several spots where desecrated corpses hung from trees or were impaled on spikes—apparently it was a favored tactic of darkspawn to do such. 

Kitranna also found and pocketed the Wilds flower that the kennel master had wanted for the sick dog. She wasn't sure how safe it would be in her bag, but she didn't know how else to carry it. 

The more they explored the Wilds, the more ruins they came across. It seemed the entire area had been settled, and not simply by farms, but by people who had built enormous, beautiful structures. All were gone, now, the structures sunken in the ground or flooded with water, their details worn away. 

They found the chest they were looking for, the one containing the scrolls, after battling through another group of darkspawn. However, the chest was broken. 

Kitranna leaned down, Alistair at her side, and they both looked through the remains of the chest, Alistair biting his lip.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”

All four of them looked to see a woman descending from one of the ruins surrounding the chest. The woman was pale, very pale, with black hair bound in a wild knot at the back of her hair. She wore ragged, patchwork clothes and there was a staff on her back. 

“Are you a vulture, I wonder?” she continued, stepping closer to them. “A scavenger, come to pick at a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or are you merely an intruder, come to these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?”

As she came closer, they could see her eyes, which were bright yellow, like a hawk's, or an elf's. Perhaps she had elvhen blood in her, to make her eyes such a color.

She tilted her head up. “What say you?” she demanded. “Scavenger, or intruder?”

Everyone hesitated, even Alistair, who was eying her staff, but Kitranna stepped forward.

“We're not either of those things,” she said. “Who are you?”

“You are the intruder here, not I, and so I believe the first question is rightfully mine,” the woman said, tilting her head to one side, her eyes narrowed. She moved forward, and they moved back. “I have been watching your progress for some time. 'Where do they go,' I wonder, 'why are they here?'” she walked past them, to look down at the broken chest. “And now you disturb ashes none have touched in so long. Why is that?”

Alistair laid a hand on Kitranna's shoulder. She shook him off, and he murmured “Don't answer her. She looks Chasind, which means there may be others nearby.”

The woman had heard him, and she smirked. “If you believe me to be Chasind, you clearly know very little about them. You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?”

“Yes,” Alistair drawled. “Swooping is bad.”

“She's a witch of the Wilds, she is,” Daveth said, his face going pale. “She'll turn us into toads!”

The woman raised her eyebrows. “Witch of the Wilds?” she said. “What idle fantasies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own? You there,” she addressed Kitranna directly. “Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

“Don't,” Alistair hissed, and Kitranna set her jaw.

“Kitranna Surana,” she told the woman. “Good afternoon to you.”

Alistair sighed. 

The woman smiled. “Such manners, even out here. You may call me Morrigan, if you wish.” she folded her arms. “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?”

“'Here no longer?'” Alistair finally stepped forward. “You stole them, didn't you? You're some kind of...sneaky...witch-thief!”

Morrigan's expression went flat. “How very eloquent,” she said. “How does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily it seems,” Alistair growled. “Those documents are Gray Warden property, and I suggest you return them.”

“I will not, for it 'twas not I who removed them,” she frowned. “Invoke a name which means nothing here any longer if you wish, but I am not impressed.”

“Do you know who does have them?” Kitranna asked. “They're important, or so I hear.”

“'Tis my mother, in fact,” Morrigan said. 

“Oh, then could you take us to her?” Kitranna asked. “Then we can get what we need and be on our way.”

“I wouldn't,” Alistair grumbled. 

“Yeah, well, you don't seem to be doing much of anything right now, do you?” Kitranna retorted. He glared at her.

Morrigan chuckled. “Not all in the Wilds is monstrous, you know,” she informed Alistair. “Flowers grow here, as well as toads. If you wish, I shall take you to my mother. She is not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you like.”

Alistair folded his arms. “We need those papers,” he told Kitranna. “But I dislike this Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient.”

“Are you suggesting some other option?” Kitranna asked. She turned to Jory and Daveth. “What about you two? Anything to offer?”

“Your taste in traveling companions appears to leave something to be desired,” Morrigan smirked. 

Kitranna rolled her eyes. “Tell us something about your mother, before we go,” she said, glancing at Alistair. 

“She prefers her privacy,” Morrigan explained. “I imagine she will be curious enough why you are here. Come, if you wish your papers—see for yourself.”

“Why are you so interested in helping us?” Jory wanted to know.

Morrigan glanced at him, then focused her attention back on Kitranna. “Why not?” she shrugged. “I do not meet many people here. Are you all so mistrustful?”

“Let's go with her,” Kitranna said. “Either way, we won't be standing around here anymore.”

“She'll put us all in the pot, she will!” Daveth protested.

Morrigan snorted and rolled her eyes. “Believe me, I would not wish you in any stewpot of mine,” she informed him, wrinkling her nose. 

“Anyway, if the pot's warmer than this forest, it would be a nice change,” Jory said. 

“Follow me then, if it pleases you,” Morrigan said. 

They followed Morrigan deeper into the swamps. The smell of blood lessened, as did the carnage that indicated darkspawn nearby. The trees thickened, and there were fewer ruins. They did not even run into any of the aggressive wolves or rabid dogs. 

“You are aware the Circle of Magi exists, right?” Alistair asked Morrigan. Again, his eyes were on the staff she had strapped to her back. “The Chantry requires all mages to be accounted for.”

Morrigan smirked. “By all means, they may come here if they wish. I have nothing to fear from priests.”

“What about Templars?” Kitranna asked. “Anything to fear from them?”

Morrigan looked at Kitranna, eyed her Enchanter robes and the staff on her own back. A strange expression flashed across her face for a moment, sadness or pity, before she assumed her neutral look again. 

“No,” she said. “I am well aware of their abilities.”

“Does that mean you've fought Templars?” Alistair wanted to know.

“Alistair,” Kitranna muttered. “Stop it.”

“I just kind of want to know if we're being lead into a trap by a maleficar or something,” he said. “Might be useful to know, don't you think?” 

“Don't bother her! If she'd wanted to trap us, she would have.” 

“I certainly would not have taken such a long time to do so, that is true,” Morrigan said.

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. “If we end up in a witch's stewpot, I'm blaming you,” he told Kitranna. 

“Why is it you think witches like to put people in pots?” Kitranna demanded. “I know I wouldn't want to stew a person. Where are you even supposed to get a pot that big?”

“Many people are directed by ignorance and superstition,” Morrigan said, casting her gaze over to Daveth, who was still pale and nervous. “They do not think these things through, if they think to question then at all.”

They walked for maybe an hour before they finally came to their destination. A ramshackle house stood next to the swamp, a large garden surrounding it, as well as several distinct magical wards that Morrigan deactivated in order for them to come close. Smoke came from the chimney, so someone was certainly home. 

“Wait here,” Morrigan said, looking them up and down with a curl to her lip. “You are covered in darkspawn filth. Mother would not much approve of you coming inside, and nor would I.”

She went inside the house, and soon returned with an older woman in tow. 

“Here, Mother,” Morrigan said, gesturing to the group. “I bring before you four Gray Wardens--”

“I see them, girl,” the woman said. She wore a tattered, patchwork dress and had long, wild gray hair that covered her ears. Her eyes were a rusty brown, not as bright as Morrigan's, and her face was gaunt and sunken. She narrowed her eyes, looking the group over. “Much as I expected.”

“Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?” Alistair asked.

The woman smirked. “You are required to do nothing, least of all believe,” she said. “Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide, either way, one's a fool.”

“She's a witch, I tell you!” Daveth said. “We shouldn't be talking to her!”

“Quiet, Daveth,” Jory snapped. “Anyway, if she's really a witch, do you want to risk making her mad?”

The woman smiled. “There's a smart lad,” she said, and looked him over with a strange gleam in her eye. “Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will.”

The woman looked at all of them thusly, and her gaze snagged on Kitranna. Her eyes gleamed and she moved forward. “And what of you?” she asked. “Does your elvhen mind give you a different perspective? Or would you believe as these boys do, those who are not your kin?”

Kitranna tilted her head to the side, and something nagged at her mind. 

“I'm not sure what to think,” she admitted. “Not right now, anyway.” 

“Hm,” the woman smirked. “A wise policy...or perhaps not. Time will tell.”

“What does that mean?”

“Perhaps it means nothing. Perhaps it means everything. I could not tell you. So much about you is uncertain, and yet I believe. Do I? Why, it seems that I do.”

“So...” Alistair looked at Kitranna. “This is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?”

“Witch of the Wilds?” the woman chuckled. “Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the light of the moon!”

“They did not come to hear your tales, Mother,” Morrigan said. Spots of color had appeared in her cheeks. 

“True,” the woman's tone was suddenly businesslike. “They came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these.”

“You--!” Alistair began, then he seemed to catch up to what she was saying. “Oh...you protected them?”

“And why not? Take them to your Wardens, and tell them that this Blight's threat is greater than they realize.”

“What do you mean?” Alistair asked.

“Either the threat is more, or they realize less,” the woman said, then she laughed. “Or perhaps the threat is nothing. Or perhaps they realize nothing!” she chuckled again. “Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for.”

“Time for you to go, then,” Morrigan said. 

“Do not be ridiculous, girl,” the woman said. “These are your guests.”

Morrigan sighed. “Oh, very well,” she said. “I will show you out of the woods. Follow me.”

“Thank you, for the papers,” Kitranna told Morrigan's mother, who just looked at her with a funny smirk on her face. 

Morrigan lead them away, reinstating the wards around the house as they left.

“There, that wasn't so bad, was it?” Kitranna told her companions. “I told you it was fine.”

Alistair sighed. “No, it's true, we did _not_ get eaten by a witch,” he said. 

“ _Thank_ you, Morrigan,” Kitranna said, the looked pointedly at her companions. 

Morrigan noted Kitranna's look and chuckled. “So intent on politeness!” she said. 

“Should I be rude?” 

“I believe you should not expect very much from them.”

“We are right here, you know,” Alistair said.

“And you have shown me nothing that may improve my opinion of you,” Morrigan said. “So I care not.”

“Are you and your mother really apostates?” Kitranna asked.

“You come from a Circle, do you not?”

“Yeah.” 

“And what do you think of your Circles?”

“Can't say I like them too much,” Kitranna said. She didn't really want to relay the details of her departure from the Circle. 

Morrigan looked at her sidelong. “You have no fondness at all for the Circle, then?”

“No,” Kitranna said. “Not really.”

Morrigan was quiet for a long time. “It is good that you are taking steps to remove yourself from their imprisonment,” she said. “I would advise you to be careful, even if you are with the Wardens.”

Kitranna tilted her head back. “Right,” she said. 

They kept walking, and after a while, they were back in an area they were more familiar with. 

“You can find you way back from here, yes?” Morrigan said. 

“Yes, but--” Alistair started, and Kitranna cut him off.

“Yes,” she said. “Thanks, Morrigan. Keep safe.”

Morrigan gave her a funny half-smile. “My...thanks,” she said. She turned and left without so much as a goodbye. 

Daveth shuddered, watching her leave, and the four of them set off back to Ostagar.

“Is the Circle so bad?” Alistair asked. 

“What do you know about it?” Kitranna wanted to know, her eyes narrowed. 

“I—before I was recruited into the Wardens, I was to become a Templar,” Alistair said. “But I'd never even seen a Circle the whole time I was in the abbey.”

Kitranna stared at him for a long moment. “Maybe I'll tell you another time,” she said at last. “It's a long story. You should ask the mages when we get back to Ostagar.”

“They don't really like me,” Alistair pointed out. “You saw.”

Kitranna shrugged. "Maybe if you didn't bother them, they'd like you more."

“You're lucky, though, aren't you?” Jory asked. “Better off than that woman in the swamp, or living on the street, or in an alienage, right?”

“I wouldn't know. I never lived outside the Circle,” Kitranna said. “The Templars took me from my family when I was a baby.”

“Who is your family?” Daveth asked. “What city are you from? I know some elves back in Denerim, I might--”

“I don't _know_.” Kitranna said with a glare. “I don't know where I came from. I've been in the Circle since I was small.”

“You never met your family?” Jory asked, and he and Daveth looked at each other.

“No.” 

Jory and Daveth looked at Alistair, who sighed.

“Most mages, unless they're from a noble family, aren't allowed to talk with the people they came from,” he admitted. “I don't know why, they just aren't.”

“I thought the Templars took mages because magic is dangerous,” Jory said. “That seems unnecessary.”

“They couldn't let you send a letter, or something?” Daveth asked Kitranna. “I always thought mages were just stuck up, busy with whatever you lot get up to in Circles.”

“Mm,” Jory nodded. “Honestly, that's what I thought too.”

Kitranna shook her head. “No,” she said. “The Templars don't let us talk to anyone outside the Circle.” she ducked her head.

“That's terrible,” Jory said. “They should let you send letters. What about adult mages? If the Circle takes someone who's married? Can they at least talk to their wife or husband?”

“No.” 

Daveth and Jory exchanged shocked looks. 

“It's not like you can get possessed through a letter!” Daveth exclaimed. 

“If I couldn't talk to my wife, at all, I—I don't know what I'd do,” Jory said. “Why hasn't anyone done anything about this?”

“The Chantry likes things just the way they are,” Alistair said. “I suppose not enough people know and care about it.”

They went back to Ostagar in silence, and it was nightfall by the time they returned. Kitranna first went to the kennel master and gave him the flower for the dog, which the kennel master was very pleased to see, and then they went to Duncan.

“So, you've returned from the Wilds,” Duncan said. “Have you been successful?”

“Yeah,” Kitranna said.

“Good. With the blood your retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately.”

“Before we get started with that...” Alistair said. “At the tower, there was a woman and her mother. Her mother had the scrolls. They were both very...odd.”

“Were they Wilder folk?”

“I don't think so. The younger woman had yellow eyes, like an elf, but she was human...I thought they might be apostates.”

Duncan pursed his lips. “Their business is not ours,” he said. “We have the scrolls. Let us focus on the Joining.”

“What is the Joining?” Daveth asked. “Are we in danger?”

“I will not lie,” Duncan said. “Gray Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later.”

Daveth and Jory exchanged nervous looks. 

“Is that why the Joining is so secret?” Jory asked.

Duncan sighed. “If only such secrecy were unnecessary, and all understood the necessity of sacrifice. Sadly, that will never be so.”

“Let's go then,” Daveth said. “I'm anxious to see this Joining now.”

“I agree,” Jory folded his arms. “Let's have it done.”

“Then let us begin,” Duncan looked away, towards one of the ruins. “Alistair, take them to the old temple—I will join shortly.”

They left the light of the fire, to head towards one of the tumbled-down buildings, far away from the rest of the camp. It was a large building, cold and dark. There were no signs that anyone had been there except for Duncan and Alistair. 

Jory paced back and forth as they waited for Duncan. 

“The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it,” he said.

“Are you blubbering _again_?” Daveth rolled his eyes.

“This from the man who was convinced the women in the Wilds were going to put us into a stew pot?” Jory retorted. “Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?”

“Maybe it's tradition. Maybe they're just trying to annoy you.”

“Or, maybe there's a reason there's so few Gray Wardens,” Kitranna said. “It's almost as if it's an exclusive Order or something. If anyone could swing a sword and be in, we wouldn't have a darkspawn problem, now would we?”

“I suppose you'd prefer us all to be mages,” Daveth said. 

“There aren't actually that many mages in the Gray Wardens,” Alistair piped up. “Circle doesn't like releasing them. Thinks too many in one place are dangerous.”

“That's stupid,” Kitranna said. “If that's the case, why do they put us all into Circles at all?”

Alistair shrugged. “Look, the Chantry doesn't like cooperating with the Wardens at the best of times—honestly, it's probably just a petty thing.” he frowned.

Jory sighed and started to pace again. “I only know that I have a wife, and a child on the way. If they had warned me—it—it just doesn't seem fair.”

Alistair's face fell, and he looked away from them. 

“Would you have come if they'd warned you?” Daveth asked. “Maybe that's why they didn't. The Wardens do what they must, right?”

“You think they're sacrificing us?”

“I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight.”

“But it's never ended the Blight,” Kitranna said. “We still have Blights. If they're sacrificing us it's only to stave off a Blight for a little while.”

Daveth sighed, and Jory's face went pale. 

“That's...not helping,” Alistair told her.

“Well, I don't know how you people do things,” she said, folding her arms. “I'm just saying that if you were into blood sacrifices or whatever, you're not doing a very good job of it.”

“I didn't say blood sacrifices!” Jory said. “I mean—it's like they're just throwing us at the darkspawn!” they all looked at Alistair. “ _Is_ it like that?”

“No, we're not doing that,” Alistair said. “That's not the point.”

“Then what _is_ the point?”

“I can't tell you that yet.”

Daveth and Jory both made exasperated sounds. Daveth ran a hand through his hair, he opened his mouth to speak, but Duncan arrived, coming up behind them and walking to a table on the other side of the crumbling hall.

“At last, we come to the Joining,” he said. They all watched him, Jory's eyes narrowed. “The Gray Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when all the peoples of Thedas stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Gray Wardens drank of darkspawn blood, and mastered their Taint.”

Duncan turned to look at all of them. 

Jory was now so pale his skin was entirely gray. “We're going to drink the blood of those..those creatures?”

Duncan nodded. “As the first Gray Wardens did before us, and as we did before you. This is the source of our power, and our victory.”

“Those who survive the Joining become immune to the Taint—we can sense it, and we can use it to slay the Archdemon.” Alistair said.

“We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?”

Alistair looked down. “Join us, brothers and sisters, join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. Should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you.”

Duncan retrieved the cup of darkspawn blood from its place on the table. The cup was large, so large it barely fit in Duncan's hands, a burnished silver, and the smell of the blood was strong. 

“Daveth, step forward,” Duncan said, and Daveth did so.

He gave the cup to Daveth, who took it with shaking hands. His arms bent a little under the weight of it. 

Daveth raised the cup to his lips, and drank. He handed the cup back to Duncan. 

There was a pause, and Daveth groaned, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. He choked and staggered forward, coughing.

“Maker's breath...” Jory breathed. 

Daveth fell to his knees, still choking, and finally collapsed forward onto the ground.

“I am sorry, Daveth,” Duncan murmured. He turned Jory. “Step forward, Jory,” he said.

Jory stepped back, taking his sword off of his back. “N-no,” he stammered. “I have a wife, a child—had I known--”

“There is no turning back now,” Duncan murmured, advancing on Jory. 

“You ask too much—There is no glory in this,” Jory said, his voice wavering. 

Duncan placed the cup down and removed his dagger from his belt. He and Jory clashed momentarily, before Duncan stabbed him through the stomach.

“I am sorry,” Duncan murmured into Jory's ear, and he let the man fall.

Jory let out a wheeze as he collapsed onto the ground.

Duncan looked up at Kitranna, who stared, open mouthed. 

“The Joining is not yet complete,” he said, and retrieved the cup. He stepped around Jory's body, under which a pool of blood was spreading. “Step forward,” he said, holding the cup out to her.

She took it. What else was she to do?

The chalice was heavy in her hands, so heavy, and the smell that came from it was utterly foul. There was blood, and something else—like lyrium, or the ozone aftermath of a spell.

“You are called upon to submit yourself to the Taint, for the good of all,” Duncan said quietly. 

She lifted the cup to her lips, and drank. She tasted blood, and bile, and black earth, and something like lyrium in the back of her throat. She dropped the cup, and didn't hear what Duncan said next. 

There was whispering in her mind, like a demon was speaking to her. Music in her thoughts, something otherworldly, alien. Her head pounded and she pressed her hand to her forehead. 

_and she saw_

Something enormous, a beast that spoke in her mind with the voice of a man, terrible words that she knew but could not comprehend, the stench of blood, all-consuming, and long teeth—great and shining claws—wings so large they could blot out the sun-- 

_something is coming, old blood--_

She awoke with a start. 

Duncan and Alistair were leaning over her. 

“It is finished,” Duncan said, seeing her come around. “Welcome.”

She realized she was lying on the ground and sat up. Duncan helped her to her feet.

“Two more dead,” Alistair said, shaking his head. “In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was...horrible. I'm glad at least one of you made it through.”

“How do you feel?” Duncan asked. 

“I saw something,” Kitranna murmured. She wiped her mouth, the inside of her cheeks tasting like she'd been sucking on a coin. 

“Here,” Alistair said, passing her a skin of water. “The aftertaste is something nasty.”

Kitranna nodded and accepted the waterskin. “What did I see?” she asked. 

“That depends on what your vision was like,” Duncan said.

Kitranna rubbed her forehead. “A— _something_ with teeth,” she said. “Like a big lizard. Was it a dragon? Is that what dragons look like?”

“Archdemon,” Duncan's brow furrowed. “Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn.”

Kitranna looked up. “An Archdemon?” she said. 

“Many Wardens have dreams of an Archdemon, even when there is no Blight,” Duncan said. “That, and many other things can be explained in the months to come.”

“Oh, before I forget--” Alistair said, pulling something from one of his belt pouches. “After the Joining, we take some of the darkspawn blood and put it in a pendant, something to remind us...of those who didn't make it this far.”

He held out the pendant, a small glass vial hung on a chain. A few drops of blood swirled around inside it. Kitranna took the pendant, examined it for a moment. She felt...something from it, something wrong, something...tainted. 

She put it in her pocket. 

“Take some time,” Duncan told her. “Then, when you are ready, I'd like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king.”

Kitranna nodded, took another sip of water. She didn't look at either of them. Duncan and Alistair exchanged a glance, then Duncan told her where the meeting was, and both of them left her. 

She watched them go, her mind humming. She bit the lip of the waterskin, the vile taste in her mouth not having gone away just yet. Her hands felt hot, as if there was a spell under her skin. 

She began to pace. They'd taken away the bodies of Jory and Daveth, which she was grateful for. Jory's pale face was still vivid in his mind, and there was still a dark stain of his blood on the flagstones where he had fallen.

She hadn't known either of them for long, but either way, they were gone now. She hummed to herself and took the pendant Alistair had given her out of her pocket. 

Kitranna held the pendant up, examining it in the moonlight. It was simple, and she could feel the taint in it, like a curious kind of pressure at the back of her head. 

She bit her lip. Then she dashed the pendant on the ground. 

She ground the tiny glass vial under her boot heel and kicked the chain away. For good measure, she lit a fire in one of her hands and pressed it to the ground until nothing but a scorchmark remained. 

She looked at the scorch mark for a minute, her brow furrowed. 

Then she left the old temple and went to the meeting place.


	4. Aceldama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate writing fight scenes lmao

“Loghain, my decision is final,” 

Kitranna walked to the long table set up at the end of a ruined hall, around which Duncan, Cailain, and Alistair. To her surprise, Uldred, one of the Senior Enchanters of Calenhad Circle, was there as well, flanked by a man in Templar plate and a woman in the garb of a Chantry Mother.

“I will stand by the Gray Wardens in this assault,” Cailan was saying. He spoke to the man in steel armor, Loghain. 

“You risk too much, Cailan,” Loghain said. He had long black hair pulled away sharply from his dour face, except for two braids that hung in front of his ears. “The darkspawn horde is too large for you to be playing hero.”

“If that's the case, then perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces after all,” Cailan said with a smirk. 

Loghain scowled and a muscle in his jaw worked. “I must repeat my protests over your fool notion that we need the Orlesian forces to defend ourselves,” he turned away from Cailan, and Cailan's smirk slid off his face.

“It is _not_ a fool notion,” Cailan said with a frown. “Our conflicts with the Orlesians are a thing of the past, and you will remember who is king.”

Loghain pinched the bridge of his nose. “How fortunate that Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand over Ferelden to those who enslaved us for a century,” he hissed. 

Kitranna grimaced. She vaguely remembered reading something about Loghain once—he was instrumental in overturning the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden. No wonder he was so unhappy. 

“Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?” Cailan said. He turned to Duncan. “Duncan, are your people ready for battle?”

“They are, your Majesty.”

Cailan turned his gaze to Kitranna. “And this is the mage from the Circle I met earlier?” he smiled at her. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

Loghain looked up at that, narrowing his eyes at Kitranna and looking at her with a more intent expression. 

“Thank you,” she said, then added “Your Majesty.”

“Every Gray Warden is needed now,” Cailan said. “You should be honored to join their ranks.”

“Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan,” Loghain growled. “We must attend to reality.”

“Fine,” Cailan said with a shrug. “Speak your strategies. The Gray Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines. And then?”

“You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge,” Loghain explained, leaning over the map on the table. “Then you--”

“Flank the darkspawn, I remember—this is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes? But who shall light the beacon?”

Loghain leaned back. “I have a few men stationed. It's not a dangerous task, but it _is_ vital.”

“Then we should send our best,” Cailan said, leaning back as well. “Send Alistair and the new Gray Warden—Surana, yes? They can make sure it's done.”

Alistair exchanged a look with Duncan. “We'll do our best, Majesty,” Alistair said. 

Loghain frowned. “You rely on these Gray Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?”

“You have fought alongside Gray Wardens before,” Cailan said. “Surely you know them to be excellent and skillful warriors, don't you?”

Loghain folded his arms. “Over reliance on any resource is a mistake,” he growled. 

Cailan rolled his eyes. “Enough of your paranoia,” he said. “Gray Wardens battle the Blight no matter who they are, and they are the best we have.”

“Your Majesty,” Duncan cut in. “You should consider the possibility of an Archdemon appearing.”

Loghain went a few degrees paler, but his voice was steady and disdainful as he said “There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds, Archdemon or no.” 

“Isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?” Cailan said.

“I—yes, your Majesty,” Duncan said. “However, your own people need to be prepared in case one does appear. Gray Wardens are the ones who engage Archdemons directly, yes, but Archdemons can cause great damage, even with Wardens fighting them.”

Uldred spoke up. “Your Majesty, the Tower of Ishal and its beacon are unnecessary, and prone to error. The Circle of Magi--”

The Chantry Mother cut Uldred off. “We will not entrust any lives to your spells, mage,” she snapped. “Save them for the darkspawn.”

Kitranna bristled. “I suppose you don't want any spirit healers helping your medics, then?” she asked.

Everyone turned to her.

“I beg your pardon?” the Mother said. 

“I mean, if you don't want to trust any lives to the spells of us _mages_.” she clenched one of her fists. 

Uldred frowned. “Enchanter, do you _mind_ \--” he hissed, but Kitranna cut him off.

“No, I want to hear what she has to say about spirit healers,” Kitranna said, glaring at the Mother. 

“Enough--” Loghain began. 

“Because, if you don't want us mages helping you, I suppose we can just let your medics do without?” Kitranna spoke over Loghain. “Don't want any Barrier spells, do you? No firestarters? I guess we can all just _leave_ , then--”

The Mother's lip curled. “How dare you speak to me that way, _mage_ \--”

“That is _enough_!” Loghain slammed his hands down on the table, making everyone jump. “This plan will suffice, the Gray Wardens will light the beacon, and if the mages and the Mother could please cease their _bickering_ , we may finally get on with our work.”

" _Thank_ you, Loghain,” Cailan said, holding out a calming hand. Kitranna and Uldred both glared at the Mother, who tilted her head up and folded her arms. 

Cailan glanced around at them, and Alistair shifted from foot to foot. 

“That moment will be glorious, will it not?” Cailan said, and everyone looked at him. “The Gray Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil.”

Loghain sighed and turned away. “Yes, Cailan,” he drawled. “A glorious moment for us all.”

Cailan and Loghain left, to see to their troops. Duncan, Alistair and Kitranna left as well, to discuss their part in the plan, but as they were turning to leave, the Mother took Kitranna's arm. 

“Watch your tongue, Enchanter,” she said. “Perhaps your inclusion into the Gray Wardens has given you some misapprehensions about your place in the world.”

Kitranna yanked out of the Mother's hold. “What would you do without spirit healers, Mother?” she hissed. “Tell me. I would love to know.”

“Do not think your new status makes you safe,” the Mother hissed back. “You are still as unreliable and dangerous as any other mage.”

“Oh, I certainly hope--”

“Enough,” Duncan came between the two of them. “Mother Odette, this woman is under my authority and my protection. The Chantry has no current claim over her.”

Mother Odette pursed her lips. “I hope you know what you are doing,” she said. “Bringing a mage into your Order.”

“The Gray Wardens have had many mages in the past, and there are many in our service now,” Duncan said. “None of which have become Abominations, I may add.”

Mother Odette cast one last glare Kitranna's way, then left. 

Duncan shook his head. “Please do not provoke the Chantry personnel,” he murmured to Kitranna.

Kitranna curled her hands into fists and looked away. Duncan sighed. “There are some errands I need to attend to,” he told her and Alistair. He told them to meet him in a few hours, where they could attend to their plan. 

“You didn't have to go off on the Mother like that, you know,” Alistair said.

“You heard what she said,” Kitranna folded her arms and glared at the ground. 

“Yes, but...” Alistair sighed. “She _was_ pretty rude.”

Kitranna scowled. 

“Look...” Alistair said. He rubbed the back of his head. “I...you're a Warden now,” he told her, his voice firm. “The Chantry doesn't have any hold over you.”

“Don't they?”

“No, they don't.” 

“Are you sure?”

Alistair paused. “Look, if nothing else, Duncan and I would make sure nothing would happen to you,” he assured her.

She looked at him. His face was flushed but his chin stubborn. 

“You can't possibly promise that,” she said. 

“I think I just did.”

She shook her head and hunched her shoulders. “Come on,” she muttered. “Let's go catch up with Duncan.”

They did so, finding Duncan at one of the enormous bonfires that were set up along the outskirts of the camp. 

“We won't be in the battle?” Alistair protested. 

“This is by the King's personal request, you remember,” Duncan said. “If the beacon is not lit, Loghain's men won't know when to charge.”

“And he definitely needs two Gray Wardens up there holding a torch, does he?”

Duncan frowned in thought. “Actually, I would believe it more prudent to have more than just the two of you away from the battlefield,” he admitted. “But we cannot spare the people.”

“You want more of us _away_ from the battle?” Alistair exclaimed, shocked. “What kind of sense does that make?”

“In case the battle goes poorly, there will be other Gray Wardens to hold the country until the Orlesian and Anderfels Wardens may arrive,” Duncan explained. “We need not risk all of our people on the front lines at once.”

“Oh,” Alistair looked down. He was still frowning, but offered no more protests.

“The tower is on the other side of the gorge from the king's camp, there,” Duncan pointed out, past the bridge. They turned and could see the silhouette of an enormous tower on the horizon. 

“Cross the gorge, head to the gates, and up to the tower entrance. From the top, you can overlook the entire valley.”

“So, when do we light the beacon?” Alistair asked with a sigh, folding his arms over his chest. 

“We will signal you when the time is right.” Duncan nodded at Alistair. “The same signal we have used many times before.”

Alistair nodded. “Right.”

“How much time will we have?” Kitranna asked.

“Less than an hour. Once the battle begins, it will go extremely quickly, one way or another.”

“Can we join the battle afterwards?” Alistair asked.

“If you are needed, we will send for you,” Duncan assured him. “But unless that happens, you must stay and guard the tower.”

“What if the Archdemon shows up?” Kitranna asked. 

“We soil our drawers if that happens,” Alistair told her. 

“If it appears, leave it to us,” Duncan said. “I want no needless heroics from anyone, least of all you.”

Kitranna and Alistair looked at each other.

“We know what to do,” Alistair said. 

“Good. I need to join the others,” Duncan said, checking the straps on his armor. “From now on, the two of you are on your own. Remember, you are both Gray Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title.” 

“Duncan...” Alistair halted, then began again. “May the Maker watch over you.”

Duncan reached out and put a hand on Alistair's shoulder. “May he watch over us all.”

Duncan left, leaving the two of them alone.

“Come on,” Alistair said. “It'll take us at least twenty minutes to get over there, and that's if everything's alright.”

“And if it's not?”

“A lot longer. Come on.”

Kitranna reached over her shoulder and grasped her staff, feeling its comforting weight in her hands. 

There was a clap of thunder overhead, and it began to rain.

“Perfect,” Alistair muttered, donning his helmet. “That's just what we need.”

“Look at that,” Kitranna breathed, staring out over the gorge In the distance, she could see the red glow of hundreds of torches. 

“That'll be the darkspawn,” Alistair muttered. He looked down, over the rim of the bridge. “Our forces are down there, see?” he pointed. 

Kitranna nodded. “I see them.” she pulled her hood up, as it began to rain harder. “Let's go.”

Everything began to pick up in speed as the red glow approached, and Kitranna could now see more clearly the massive wave of darkspawn that approached. The two armies clashed, and more people began to move. 

They got to the bridge and hurried across, dodging several rocks thrown by darkspawn artillery. Kitranna hadn't even known that the darkspawn had artillery, but evidently they did.

Alistair and Kitranna ran further into the ruins, and eventually encountered a soldier and another mage, one Kitranna didn't recognize. The soldier stopped them. 

“You—you're Gray Wardens, aren't you?” he said. “The Tower—it's been taken!”

“What are you talking about, man, taken how?” Alistair demanded.

“The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers, they're everywhere. Most of our men are dead.” the man's voice shook as he explained. 

“We have to get to the beacon and light the thing!” Kitranna exclaimed. “What do we do now?”

“We need to take the tower back, is what,” Alistair said. “You two, come with us,” he gestured to the soldier and the mage, who quickly fell into step with them. 

They hurried through the fortress, towards the Tower, and almost immediately met a horde of darkspawn. 

Kitranna let out a noise of disgust, blasting a large firestorm spell to torch the beasts.

“Easy with that!” the soldier exclaimed, shielding his face from the flames.

“Get out of the way!” she snapped. 

The soldier did as he was bid, retrieving a crossbow from a fallen corpse and standing far back from the fight, allowing both Kitranna and the other mage to use their more explosive spells. 

The skirmish was finished and Kitranna wiped away the sweat from her brow. 

“Which way now?” She asked Alistair. He pointed, and they went in the direction he indicated. 

They encountered several more smaller groups of darkspawn, each time Kitranna growing less and less patient. They had no time for this, they needed to get to the Tower _now_.

She roared in frustration, slamming a particularly stubborn Darkspawn with an overpowered chain lightning spell, and her chest heaved. “Come on!” she snapped at her companions. They were almost to the Tower. 

The gate to the Tower of Ishal was flanked by two enormous statues in Tevinter-style dress. The windows to the interior were lit up, and there were dead soldiers scattered around the entrance. 

Kitranna growled to herself. The soldier had not been exaggerating. It took both Alistair and the soldier several tries to force the gates of the Tower open, as it had been barricaded from the other side. They found darkspawn had infested the entire tower, top to bottom. 

“How did they get in so fast?” Alistair asked, breathing heavily as they had a break in between groups of darkspawn. “What are they doing ahead of the rest of the Horde?” 

“I don't know, Alistair,” Kitranna drawled. “Maybe you should ask them yourself.”

Alistair heaved a sigh.

“I think they dug in through the ground floor,” the mage piped up. “I don't know though...”

Alistair shook his head. “There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here,” he said. “The Tower is supposed to be fortified, that's why we chose it...” he pushed his hair off his forehead. “Maybe we should have listened to that mage at the king's meeting...”

“It's almost like mages are intelligent or something,” Kitranna sniped.

“Hey, I never said--”

Kitranna scowled and pushed forward. “Come on,” she snapped. 

They went further, climbing the Tower at a pace that felt achingly slow. It had been over an hour by now, they were sure of it, but there was no way to avoid it. There were simply too many darkspawn to move quickly. 

Finally, they came to the top level. All four of them were exhausted, covered in blood and scorch marks from spells gone astray. Both Kitranna and the other mage had gotten sloppier in their spells, and smelled strongly of lyrium from the potions they imbibed. Alistair was fine so far, but the other soldier had a nasty gash in one arm. They pushed the door open and things got immeasurably worse. 

There was an ogre already occupying the floor. 

The thing was enormous and ugly, hunched over the remains of several people whose bodies were so mangled they could no longer be identified. It sported huge horns and larger teeth, and a truly awful smell came off the beast in waves. 

It spotted them and rose from its crouch with a roar, spraying spit from its mouth. 

Kitranna murmured a curse.

“Well, that's not good,” Alistair choked, holding up his shield. 

Kitranna and the mage exchange a look, then backed up, charging their staffs both with a spell. 

“You two, back up,” Kitranna commanded Alistair and the soldier. 

The ogre charged, and Kitranna and the mage both let loose separate spells, hers a fire spell and his an ice one. The spells were haphazard and explosive, but they did their job. The creature roared in rage as her fireball caught its skin, and the soldier let loose several arrows from the crossbow he had retrieved. 

The battle was long and grueling, the beast being resistant to all the spells and arrows they threw at it. Alistair couldn't get close enough to stick it with his sword and in any case none of them wanted to get within snatching distance of those enormous hands or sharp teeth. 

Finally, however, the ogre was dead. 

“Come on,” Alistair said. “I'm sure we've missed the signal by now, but we need to try--!” 

They lit the beacon, and waited, all four of them hanging out the sole window, to see what they could. Outside, the rain had not let up, and smoke and rain obscured the view. All they could see were vague shapes and lights, nothing solid. 

“What's going on?” Kitranna asked. “I don't see anyone moving.”

Alistair squinted. “No, those are Loghain's forces, there--” he pointed to a mass of lights on the other side of the gorge. “I don't understand, what are they--”

He was cut off as a massive swarm of darkspawn burst through the door. Exhausted and outnumbered as they were, they could hardly put up any kind of fight. 

Kitranna let off a burst of spells, but an arrow broke right past her Barrier spell and slammed into her shoulder, driving her to the ground with a cry. 

She saw a darkspawn cut down the other mage, and Alistair locked in battle with another one, but then her vision clouded over and she knew no more. 

 

Someone came to her, then, but she didn't know who it was. Someone picked her up in their arms. 

She heard music. A voice, singing. She didn't know the words. 

 

The first thing Kitranna was aware of again was the smell of something cooking. Dust and books. The sound of light rain pattering on a roof. 

She blinked and groaned, a heavy pain in her chest. 

“Ah,” someone appeared at her bedside. “Your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased.”

Kitranna blinked at the source of the voice, to see Morrigan, the woman from the Wilds, standing next to her. 

Morrigan looked the same as she ever did. She even wore the same clothes, the same peculiar mix of assorted rags and leathers. 

“Please, do try not to move too much,” Morrigan said. Her hand gleamed with a weak healing spell that she pressed to Kitranna's shoulder. “You arrived here with a great many arrows sticking out of you. Your wounds are not quite healed yet.”

“Where am I?” Kitranna croaked. 

“You are in my home,” Morrigan told her. “Well, that of myself and my mother, to be precise.”

Kitranna tried to sit up, then gasped, pain making her stop. Morrigan looked at her with lidded eyes. “I would not suggest moving very much,” she said. “As I said, your injuries were extensive.”

“How did I get here?” Kitranna asked, closing her eyes again. “What happened? There were darkspawn...”

“Mother rescued you.”

Kitranna blinked at the other woman. “How'd she do that?”

“She turned into a giant bird and plucked you and you companion from the top of the Tower you were stranded upon, one in each talon,” Morrigan informed her, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Did she now?”

“If you do not believe that tale, perhaps you should ask her yourself. She may even tell you.”

Kitranna ran a hand over her face. Even moving that much made her arm ache. “What happened to the army? Duncan—the other Gray Wardens?” 

“The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field,” Morrigan said. “The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred.”

Kitranna felt the blood drain from her face. “Alistair,” she said. “Is Alistair here? I need—I need to--” she tried to sit up again, then let out a small cry, clasping a hand to shoulder, which burned when she tried to move.

“As of this moment, you need do nothing but stay right there,” Morrigan said. “Your Alistair is injured as well, somewhat less gravely, so he is currently engaged in conversation with my mother.” Morrigan's mouth twisted, indicating what she thought of this.

Kitranna sucked a breath in through her teeth. “How badly am I hurt?” she asked.

“Quite severely, but you will recover,” Morrigan said. “The Darkspawn did nothing Mother cannot heal. Speaking of which, Mother wanted to see you when you awoke.”

“Why?”

“I could not say. Mother rarely tells me her plans,” Morrigan shot a nasty look at the door, outside of which was where her mother presumably resided. “Here,” she summoned another healing spell to her hands again, this one stronger. She pressed both hands to the wound in Kitranna's shoulder, and the pain eased tremendously. 

Kitranna sighed. “Thank you,” she said, finally able to sit up with less pain.

“You...you are welcome,” Morrigan pulled back. “Come, if you are able, Mother should wish to see you.”

Kitranna sat up and painfully put her feet over the edge of the bed. “Where are my things?” she asked. She was dressed only in a plain, roughspun shift. 

“Your robes were not salvageable,” Morrigan told her with a grimace. “Nor your companion's armor. Completely ruined by darkspawn taint, I am afraid, but there is clothing here you can borrow.”

“I appreciate it.”

Morrigan gave Kitranna a set of leathers somewhat like Morrigan's own patchwork clothing. They were old, but serviceable.

“My staff?” Kitranna asked.

“Broken. Here,” Morrigan handed her a staff, made of dark wood with an opaque crystal set into the top. “We have many. I know how dangerous it is to be a mage with no weapon.”

“Thank you,” Kitranna said again. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did anyone survive besides us? We had another soldier and a mage with us...”

Morrigan shook her head. “Mother only brought you and your suspicious friend. On the battlefield, there are only stragglers who remain, and most of them are long gone.” she paused. “You...would not like to see what is happening in the valley now.”

Kitranna toyed with her sleeve. “We're safe here, though?”

“For the moment. Mother's magic keeps the darkspawn at bay. Once you leave, however, there is no telling what will happen, but the main horde has moved on.”

Kitranna nodded. “Alright. Where's your mother?”

“Outside, with your friend.”

“He has a name, you know.”

“Does he indeed?”

Kitranna rolled her eyes and Morrigan lead her outside. Alistair and Morrigan's mother were there, just under the awning at the front of the house. It was raining, a light shower that nonetheless gave a chill to the air. Morrigan went back in, leaving Kitranna alone with the other two.

Alistair looked terrible. His skin was gray and he had dark circles under his eyes. He too was wearing borrowed clothes, a leather shirt and breeches that didn't fit him very well. 

“You—you're alive!” Alistair exclaimed when he saw her, straightening his back.

“You worry too much, young man,” Morrigan's mother informed him. 

Alistair ignored her. “I thought you were dead for sure!” 

“Morrigan and her mother saved me,” Kitranna said, gesturing to the two women. “Without them I probably would be.”

Morrigan's mother smirked. 

“Duncan's dead,” Alistair said. “The Gray Wardens...the king.”

“I know,” Kitranna said. 

“This doesn't seem real,” Alistair said, rubbing his face with one hand. “You're right, if it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower.”

“Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad,” the woman in question reprimanded Alistair. 

“I—I didn't mean...” Alistair stammered. “But...what do we call you? You never gave us your name.”

“Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. If you insist upon a name, I suppose it will do.”

Alistair's eyes widened. “ _The_ Flemeth?” he asked. “From the legends? Daveth was right...you _are_ a Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?”

Flemeth pursed her lips. “And what does that mean?” she said. “I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?”

“Have you been like this the whole time?” Kitranna hissed to Alistair. “Maker, Alistair, she _rescued_ us!” she looked at Flemeth. “I... _was_ been wondering about that, though,” she said. "How _did_ you rescue us, anyway?"

Flemeth smirked. “That tale is not the important one at this time,” she said. 

“Why us?” Alistair demanded. “Why not Duncan? Or the king? Duncan is—was—our leader!” 

Flemeth sighed. “I am sorry for your Duncan. But your grief must come later, in the dark shadows before your vengeance, as my mother once said. Duty must come now.”

Kitranna narrowed her eyes. “That doesn't answer why you rescued _us_ , specifically. There are other Gray Wardens— _were_ other Gray Wardens.”

Flemeth met her gaze. “You have heard things, have you not?” she said. “Whispers and strange omens from spirits, prophecies and portents...”

Kitranna leaned back. “...maybe...” she said.

“There you are then, my dear.” 

“I don't understand.”

“Something is coming,” Flemeth said, and a chill ran down Kitranna's spine. “Darkspawn, yes, but something else.”

“An Archdemon?” Alistair suggested, looking from Flemeth to Kitranna.

Flemeth regarded him. “Whether there is or is not, it has always been the Gray Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blights, or has that changed when I wasn't looking?”

“No, it hasn't,” Alistair said. “And...we are the only Ferelden Wardens left.” he rubbed his eyes. “But—we were already fighting the darkspawn! The King had nearly defeated them, why would Loghain do this?”

“Now _that_ is a good question,” Flemeth said. “Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any Tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat.”

“So...there _is_ an Archdemon,” Alistair said.

“Of course.”

Alistair blinked. “But...earlier, you said...”

“There are many things in this world besides darkspawn, my lad, but this is the most pertinent danger.”

“Will you help us fight this?” Kitranna asked Flemeth. “The Blight, or...whatever comes after?”

Flemeth's eyes gleamed. “Me? I am just an old woman who lives in the Wilds. I know nothing of Blights and darkspawn.”

Alistair and Kitranna exchanged a look.

“Well...” Alistair said. “Whatever Loghain's insanity, he obviously believes the darkspawn are a minor threat. We must warn everyone that this isn't the case.”

“And who will believe you?” Flemeth asked. “Unless you think to convince this Loghain of his mistake.”

“He just betrayed his own king!” Alistair exclaimed. “If Arl Eamon knew about this, he'd be the first to call for his execution.”

“Who's Arl Eamon?” Kitranna asked. “We should go to him, if he can help.”

“I suppose...” Alistair bit his lip, thinking. “Arl Eamon didn't come to Ostagar, he still has all his men...and he was Cailan's other uncle, I know him, he's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet.” he snapped his fingers. “Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!”

Kitranna frowned. “People called Loghain an honorable man, too.”

Alistair's face darkened. “The Arl would never do what Loghain did! I know him too well—but I still don't know if Eamon's help would be enough. He can't defeat a Darkspawn horde by himself.”

Kitranna sighed and leaned against the house. “We need the other Gray Wardens,” she said. “The ones from Orlais or the Anderfels—Duncan had a friend in Weisshaupt, perhaps she could help--”

Alistair shook his head. “I don't know how to contact them,” he said. “And anyway, they're months away. The closest are in Orlais, and that's four months over the Frostbacks, or two through Orzammar, and it's just—we don't have time. We need to do something now.”

Flemeth rejoined the conversation. “You have more at your disposal than you think.”

“Of course!” Alistair said, snapping his fingers. “The treaties! Gray Wardens can demand aid from Orzammar, the Dalish, the Circle, other places—they're obligated to help us during a Blight!”

Flemeth folded her arms and leaned back on her heels. “Dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon and who knows what else—this sounds like an army to me.”

“It does,” Kitranna agreed.

“Do you think we could do this?” Alistair asked, looking between Kitranna and Flemeth. “Go to Redcliffe and these other places and...build an army?”

Kitranna shrugged. “Don't see why not. If we can't, that doesn't really matter much anyway, does it?”

“What an optimistic person you are,” Alistair said with a grimace. “It's always been the Gray Wardens' duty to stand against the Blight. And right now...we're the Gray Wardens.”

Flemeth straightened. “So you are set then,” she said. “Ready to be Gray Wardens.”

“Are you really going to stay out here?” Kitranna asked. “Not offer any more help?”

Flemeth tilted her head to one side. “Now that you mention it, I do have one more thing to offer.”

Morrigan came out of the house. She glanced at Kitranna and Alistair. “The stew is bubbling,” she informed them. “Shall we have two guests for the eve again, or none?”

“The Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them.”

“Such a shame--” Morrigan began, then stared at her mother. “What?”

“You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears.”

“Sounds like a good idea...” Kitranna said thoughtfully. “We need all the help we can get.”

“Have _I_ no say in this?” Morrigan demanded.

“You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance.” Flemeth looked back to Alistair and Kitranna. “As for you, consider this repayment for your lives.”

"Ah—thank you,” Kitranna said, glancing at Morrigan, who was scowling, her arms folded. 

“Not to...look a gift horse in the mouth,” Alistair began. “But won't this add to our problems? She's an apostate.”

“If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower.” Flemeth said. 

“Point taken.”

“Mother...” Morrigan began. “This is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready!”

“You must be ready,” Flemeth said, her voice hard. “Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn, and whatever else comes after. They need you, Morrigan. Without you they will surely fail--”

“Hey--” Alistair interrupted.

“And all will perish under the Blight. Even I.”

Morrigan closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “I...understand.”

Flemeth turned her attention back to them. “And you, Wardens. Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all else in this world. I do this because you must succeed.”

“We understand,” Kitranna said. 

Morrigan sighed. “Allow me to get my things, if you please,” she said. “And I suppose we'll need supplies as well...” she muttered darkly to herself and returned to the house. 

“We _do_ need supplies, don't we?” Alistair said. “Should we go and--”

“Let her do it herself,” Flemeth advised. “She is insufferable if interrupted while working. She will find what you need.”

“Including weapons?” Alistair hazarded. “I _did_ lose my sword, and we can't go out with just two mages.”

“Do I look like the kind of old woman who hides swords in her house?” Flemeth asked. “You will have to make do.”

“A sword's the only thing I know how to use!”

"Can you use a quarterstaff?” Kitranna asked. “Daggers? Bow and arrow? Slingshot?”

“I'm a pretty bad shot with a bow,” Alistair said with a grimace. “Honestly, I know sword and shield—you spend all your time learning that, it's a bit hard to learn anything else.”

“Crossbow? Those are easier, aren't they? That's the point of them right?”

“Do we _have_ any crossbows?” they both looked at Flemeth.

“I'm afraid there are no crossbows here, either,” she said. “I would suggest you improve your aim, young man, and use a longbow.”

Alistair sighed. “Wonderful.”

“No one said it would be easy,” Kitranna pointed out. 

Morrigan returned, a pack on her back and a bow and quiver of arrows in one hand. “Here,” she said, shoving the quiver and bow at Alistair. “Make yourself useful, if you please, and carry these.” she pulled her hood up over her head. “I am at your disposal, Gray Wardens. Do we have a destination in mind?”

Kitranna and Alistair looked at each other. Alistair shrugged, and Morrigan sighed.

“I suggest a village north of the Wilds. It is not far, perhaps a week, and we will find much we need there.” she paused. “If you prefer, I will simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours.”

“Say what you want,” Kitranna said, before Alistair could say anything. 

Morrigan glanced at Alistair. “Are you so sure?” she asked. “From the way your companion glares so, I suspect he has some sort of issue with that.”

“I just--” Alistair said, as they both turned to look at him. “Do you really want to take her along because her _mother_ says so?” he asked Kitranna. 

“And do you _really_ want to turn down help?” Kitranna asked. “You don't even have a _sword._ ”

Alistair sighed. “I guess you're right...” he ran a hand over his hair. “The Gray Wardens have always taken allies when they are needed.”

“I am so _pleased_ to have your approval,” Morrigan said, rolling her golden eyes. 

“Well...” Kitranna said. “I suppose we should be leaving.”

“Farewell, Mother,” Morrigan said to Flemeth. “Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut.”

Flemeth snorted. “It is far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight.”

Morrigan looked stricken. “I...all I meant was...”

Flemeth's expression softened. “Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear.”

And with that, they left. 

“What are the statues here?” Kitranna asked. Alongside the path away from Flemeth's hut, there were large statues, ruined figures missing heads or arms. “Are they Tevinter ruins, like Ostagar? They don't look the same...”

Morrigan shrugged. “I could not say for certain. I know these statues are much older than Ostagar's ruins, so perhaps they were built by Tevinters beforehand. Perhaps they were even built by the elves. I have never made a study of them.”

“I would've figured that if the elves built them, Tevinter would've knocked them all down,” Alistair pointed out. 

“But they look different than the other Tevinter statues,” Kitranna insisted. “The style's all different.”

“Do you learn much of art in the Circle?” Morrigan asked.

“A bit. There's lots of books in the library. I just know the difference between styles in statuary, that's all.” Kitranna shrunk a little under Morrigan's scrutiny. 

“Fascinating,” Morrigan looked almost genuinely interested. “I would have thought you would have learned nothing relevant in the Circles at all.”

“Not much,” Kitranna admitted. “But some.”

Their trip out of the Wilds was not very eventful. The darkspawn had long since moved on, and they only ran into one or two stragglers.

On one memorable occasion, they saw the shadow of a dragon pass overhead. Both Kitranna and Alistair froze when they saw it, but it took no notice of them.

Kitranna stared after it, even long after it had gone. 

Morrigan snorted. “That beast is of no interest,” she said, also looking in the direction the dragon had gone. 

“Does that happen a lot?” Alistair asked her.

Morrigan shrugged. “There is a dragon that lives in the Wilds, yes,” she said. “But it is of no concern of ours.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. If it was our concern, we would all know about it, even you.”

“Oh. Hey, what does that mean?”

Morrigan continued on ahead, a sharp smirk on her lips. 

Apparently the darkspawn had chased everything apart from the dragon off, even the Chasind, who lived there, and the most desperate of highwaymen and the more rabid of animals. Now that the darkspawn themselves had moved on, the Wilds were very quiet and easy to move through.

Alistair was quiet as well. He had Kitranna hardly exchanged two words with each other, and they had no plans outside of 'get to Lothering.'

In the meantime, Kitranna had terrible nightmares. 

A huge beast with eyes like green fire roared in her mind, a sound so loud it shattered the world around it. Music played in her head, the sounds of darkspawn and death as well. Alistair noticed once. 

“Bad dreams, huh?” he asked one night, watching her sit up, kicking her bedroll off her legs. 

She bared her teeth. “What does it matter to you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Look, part of being a Gray Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was. Hearing them.” He looked away from her, his brow furrowed. “The Archdemon it...talks...to the Horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's how we know it's a real Blight.”

She clenched her fists. “I have dreams about demons,” she said. “Or I did. In the Circle.”

He glanced at her. 

“I stopped having nightmares on the road, between Ostagar and Calenhad.”

“Sorry,” Alistair said. “It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out. Probably easier for you, since you're a mage.” he paused. “Some of the older Gray Wardens say—said—they could understand the Archdemon a bit, but I sure can't.”

She looked at him sharply. “What do they say it says?”

“Lots of things—they said it was mostly...feelings, more than anything.”

“Feelings like what?”

He shrugged. “Mostly lots of ending the world kind of feelings. They never got anything very specific from it.”

“Oh. Anything else I should know?” 

“Well...” he tilted his head up. “You've got about thirty years. Give or take?”

“What?”

“You're Tainted. You still have the Blight, it's just slowed down because you're a Warden. So, you're still gonna die from it.”

“Ah. Wonderful.”

“It's not so bad. Could be worse.”

“Mm.” she looked away from him, cutting off the conversation. 

Morrigan and Alistair didn't get on. At first, the three of them were just focused on getting out of the Wilds, so none of them spoke very much. Then, they started coming to more familiar territory, and Alistair began to get curious.

“So...let's talk about your mother,” he said to her one morning.

“I'd rather talk about _your_ mother,” Morrigan said in reply, glancing over her shoulder at him. 

“Well, there's nothing to talk about,” Alistair said quickly. “And anyways, isn't your mother a scary witch who lives in the middle of a swamp? _Much_ more interesting.”

“To you, perhaps. But you would find the moss growing upon a stone interesting.”

Kitranna snickered, and Alistair scowled at her, before turning his attention back to Morrigan.

“You know what's more interesting than that?” he said. “ _Apostates_. Mages living outside of the Tower.”

“Alistair, drop it,” Kitranna snapped, her good humor lost, and they both glanced at her. 

“I am not offended,” Morrigan said. “It is no concern of mine what Alistair believes about my mother.”

“Doesn't matter,” Kitranna said. “Just...” she ran a hand over her head. “You don't know who could be listening.”

They both were staring at her now.

“We're in the middle of the Wilds,” Alistair said slowly. “Who could possibly be listening to us?” 

“I assure you, I would know if someone was here besides us, and there is no one,” Morrigan said.

Kitranna hunched her shoulders. “Just leave it, alright?” she said. The back of her neck itched. 

“Alright...” Alistair said. He and Morrigan exchanged a confused glance for an instant, then turned their attention back to the road. 

They were finally back on the main road when it came to light that Morrigan could change into other animals. 

One moment she had handed her staff to Kitranna, and her pack to Alistair, the next, she had transformed into a black bird and flew high over their heads. 

Alistair and Kitranna both stared up at her. 

“Did anyone ever do that in the Circle?” he asked her. “I've never seen a mage do that.”

Kitranna shook her head. “No.” 

They watched her circle overhead for a moment, then she came back down. She alighted on the ground, there was a flash, and she was a woman again.

“How did you do that?” Kitranna asked eagerly, handing her her staff back, which she took.

“It is a skill,” she said. “One any mage with the will and knowledge could learn if they so chose.” she shouldered her pack and pulled her hood up. “The road is clear up ahead,” she informed them. 

They began to walk. 

“Could you teach me to do that?” Kitranna asked. “How do you start? Do you have any books about it? Can you turn into other animals?”

“So full of questions!” Morrigan exclaimed. “I could teach you, provided you had the will to even make the attempt. I do not have books about it. I do not know that there even are books written on the subject. Yes, if I so chose, there are other animals I could turn into.”

“Like what?”

“A bear. A swarm of flies. A spider.”

“A spider?” Alistair asked, alarmed. “Please tell me not one of the big ones.”

Morrigan smirked. “Yes, one of those. I could do it now, but I do not wish to drop my things.” she looked over at Alistair. “Spiders move much faster than people do, you know.”

“I didn't really need to know that.”

“I met a demon in the Fade who could turn into other things,” Kitranna said. 

“Many demons do that.”

“Did you learn it from a demon? Or a spirit?”

“I did not. My mother taught me, and I improved upon the skill myself. I assume your Circle did not wish for you to know the ability?” 

Kitranna shook her head. “No.”

Morrigan sighed. “I will teach you, if you have the aptitude.”

The dog came to them on the road outside of the Wilds. It was a large Mabari hound, with brown fur spattered with blood. 

Kitranna kneeled down as he came to greet them. Morrigan made a noise of disgust at the smell the dog brought with it, and Kitranna had to admit, he did smell quite strong. With the dog came a group of darkspawn, the first group they had encountered since Ostagar. 

The three of them (plus the dog) quickly eliminated the darkspawn, Morrigan turning into an enormous bear and mauling some while Kitranna froze several and burned others, smirking to herself as she did so. It was always satisfying to watch a spell hit home. Alistair, unfortunately, had to make do with the bow and arrow, and only managed to get a few shots in. 

“I _really_ need a sword,” he grumbled as soon as the last Darkspawn was killed, turning the bow over in his hands. 

Morrigan ambled over to them and turned back into a woman. “Have you no ability to adapt whatsoever?” she demanded of him. 

“I can adapt just fine, I'd just do a lot better with a weapon I actually know how to use!”

Kitranna ignored their arguing and kneeled down next to the dog again, gingerly reaching out and touching his head. She vaguely recognized the dog as the one she had helped in Ostagar, bringing the flower to the kennel master to help with his illness.

“I think he's chosen you,” Alistair said, both he and Morrigan turning their attention to Kitranna again. “Mabari are like that. He must have been out here looking for you.”

Morrigan sighed, her face twisted with disgust. “Does this mean we are to have this mangy beast following us around now? Wonderful.”

Alistair leaned down to give the dog a closer look. “Aw, he's not mangy!” he said. 

“I don't know how to care for a dog,” Kitranna admitted with a sigh, running her hand over the dog's head. He pushed his head against her hand. “I like him, though.”

“He's done alright so far,” Alistair pointed out. “He'll probably be just fine if he comes with us.”

Morrigan grumbled to herself and folded her arms. They began to move on, the dog trotting along at Kitranna's heel. 

“I don't like that we met so many darkspawn here,” Kitranna said. “Are we going to run into the Horde?”

“If we were, we would already have done it,” Alistair said. “Chances are, the Horde'll stay away from the main roads for now, until they've marshaled enough to attack a town. We'll probably be alright, and they don't like daylight anyway.”

“That reminds me,” Morrigan said. “Have either of you given any thought to your plans?”

Kitranna looked at Alistair, who shrugged.

“I...I don't know,” he admitted. “I just want to get to Lothering, then we can plan, alright?” he looked away. 

“Hm,” Morrigan narrowed her eyes, but Kitranna didn't push. 

"I suppose we can do that," she said.


	5. Bajulate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some mention of suicide and general templar nastiness in this one. there's more notes at the bottom.

The muddy dirt road turned into a stone one, raised up above the ground, like a bridge, except not over water. Old dwarven ruins. Kitranna recognized the architecture. 

“We are close,” Morrigan said. “We should be there sometime today, should all fare well.”

“Did you always have to make a trip this long just to get to a village?” Alistair asked.

“No. Sometimes it took longer, depending on where Mother had placed her home of the moment.”

“I've never been in many villages,” Kitranna said. “Just one or two inns when Duncan and I came down to Ostagar.”

The stone path was quiet, and much smoother than the muddy road had been. After walking for some time, they could see a town in the distance.

“Is that it?” Alistair asked. Morrigan nodded. 

They came closer, and found that the road was blocked by a group of human men in ramshackle armor. As it turned out, the men were highwaymen, who wished to rob them. They were actually fairly polite about it at first, but the longer they looked at each other, the more edgy the highwaymen became. 

“I don't know,” one of the men murmured into the leader's ear. “They look like them Chasind ones—and you know they put a curse on their gold.”

“There's no Chasind knife-ears! They're all human!” one of the other men snapped, eying Kitranna warily. Kitranna scowled, as did Alistair. 

Kitranna tapped her fingers on her staff. “You're not going to get anywhere by calling me 'knife-ear,'” she informed them.

Morrigan leaned on her own staff, and the highwaymen looked at her, then back at Kitranna. 

“I'm sure we can all come to some kind of agreement,” the leader of the highwaymen said, an oily grin on his face. 

“If I were to hazard a guess, I would say we could not,” Morrigan said. 

“Yeah, we're not really in favor of making deals with bandits,” Alistair added. 

“Oh, that really is too bad,” the highwayman shook his head. 

Morrigan rolled her eyes and laid her staff down on the ground. The highwaymen all watched her, curious. 

There was a flash of light, and in Morrigan's place, there was an absolutely enormous spider. 

The highwaymen all shrieked and scrambled back, bellowing curses. Kitranna giggled and even Alistair was smiling a little. 

The highwaymen bolted, leaving behind most of their things. Morrigan turned back into a woman again and picked up her staff. 

“That's really handy,” Alistair said, digging through the highwaymen's belongings. “Might cause some trouble for us, though, if they tell the Chantry. Dammit,” he muttered. “No one left a sword.”

“Do you really think a band of thieves is going to admit to being frightened away by two women, an idiot, and a mangy dog?” Morrigan asked. “What shall they say, that I turned into a spider?”

Alistair scowled. “They _could_ say that, yeah. Because that's what happened.”

“And do you think anyone would believe them?” Morrigan began to move ahead, and they followed her. 

“Some Templars might,” Kitranna said. “I don't know what they all know about magic.”

“Not much,” Alistair said.

Kitranna looked at him. “In Calenhad, they always let on like they knew more about magic than even the Enchanters.”

Morrigan scowled. “No doubt they were trying to make it seem such,” she said. “I highly doubt that they actually knew anything at all.”

“I never want to risk it,” Kitranna admitted. “I thought, what if they're just lying, trying to act smart? Then I thought, what if they know we think they're lying and they're trying to use that? The Templars have been around an awfully long time, what if they could figure out that we know that they know that we know they're liars? And what if they really do know all our magic? What if they do know everything a mage could possibly know and know how to counteract it? What if--”

“Is this what you think about all the time?” Alistair asked. 

She looked at him. “Am I supposed to think of something else?”

“I suppose, in a prison, one will be heavily preoccupied with one's jailers,” Morrigan said. “Look,” she pointed. “We have arrived.”

To the right of the road, down a ramp, there lay the little village of Lothering. 

“Pretty as a painting, isn't it?” Alistair said. 

“I suppose if you want to ignore the highwaymen, it's nice enough,” Kitranna said. 

“First things first, I need to find the smith,” Alistair said. 

“Hold on a minute,” Kitranna grabbed Alistair's arm. “Plans. We need plans. We were going to get to Lothering and plan things, and now we're here.” 

He sighed. “I don't know,” he admitted. “Whatever you want to do—we already know we need to go to Eamon, and use the treaties.”

“But who do we go to first? How long are we going to take to get there? What''ll we need--”

“Maybe we shouldn't be having this conversation in the middle of the road,” Alistair said. “Tell you what—I'll find the smith, you two find the inn, and we can plan there.” he rubbed his face. “At least find somewhere to sit down, that works too.”

Kitranna let go of his arm. “Fine,” she said. “I'll hold you to that.”

They parted ways for the moment, Kitranna, Morrigan and the dog going to find an inn while Alistair went to the local blacksmith. Lothering was crowded and smelled foul, almost worse than Ostagar had. 

“Do you think letting him wander off on his own was the best of ideas?” Morrigan asked. 

“I'm sure he'll manage,” Kitranna said. 

Morrigan pursed her lips. “Not from what I've seen of him so far...”

“He's not an idiot, you know,” Kitranna told her. 

“Hm.” Morrigan looked around. “I have never seen this place so crowded before.”

“Never?” 

“I suppose a great number of people have been driven away from their homes because of the Horde.”

They passed by the Chantry, ignoring it. It was full of people in any case, so doubtless even if Kitranna and Morrigan were inclined to seek help of some variety, the Chantry would not be able to supply it. 

“I doubt any inn here would have room for us,” Morrigan said, narrowing her eyes as she surveyed the crowds of refugees. “I daresay we shall have to move on fairly quickly.”

“What makes you say that?” 

“Aside from the urgency of our task?” 

“Yeah, apart from that.” Kitranna rolled her eyes. 

“I dislike so many refugees in one place,” Morrigan glanced after a bickering family. “So many does not bode well.”

“How so?” 

“What _is_ it they teach you in the Circle?” Morrigan asked. 

“Mostly? To be afraid of demons,” Kitranna said. “Is it so bad when so many refugees are in one place?”

“That, and the proximity to Ostagar is troubling,” Morrigan said. “Perhaps the Horde is faster than you anticipated. Perhaps they are recovering more quickly from the battle than we would like. In any case, I do not like it.”

“Well, we can't go anywhere without Alistair,” Kitranna said. “And we need supplies.” 

Morrigan sighed. “True enough, though I would prefer that we not bring him with us. Even the dog is better company.” she glanced down at the dog with a faint frown. 

“He's not so bad,” Kitranna said. “What do you have against him?” 

“He is foolish,” Morrigan said. “Is that not enough reason? We cannot afford to be foolish.”

Kitranna shrugged. “It's not like we can afford to turn down the help, either.”

Morrigan glanced at her sidelong. “So you would not wish him with us if you did not need the aid?”

“No,” Kitranna said. “No, I'd still want him along.”

“Why?”

“Well, he's friendly,” Kitranna pointed out. “He's got that over you.”

Morrigan scowled. “I can be friendly if I desire to. Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so.”

Kitranna sighed and shook her head. “You're like two apprentices in the same project,” she said with a small smile. 

They found the inn, a ramshackle, crowded building filled with the smell of smoke and too many unwashed bodies. 

Morrigan and Kitranna both wrinkled their noses upon entering. 

“Right,” Kitranna said. “Let's not stay the night here.”

“Agreed.” 

 

Alistair found the smith, who informed him that she was not a swordsmith, and the best she could do for him was, essentially, put an edge on an iron club and give it a handle. He told her that was honestly all he needed and she gave him what she offered. He knew some swordsmithing himself (you didn't learn how to use a sword without learning at least a little of how it was made), and could reasonably improve on whatever he got. 

Feeling much better with a sword on his back, even a poor one, he made to look for the inn and meet back up with Kitranna and Morrigan.

Unfortunately, he was spotted by some very unwelcome persons. Several men in the livery of Loghain's soldiers approached him. 

“Oi,” one of them said, stepping right in his path. “Weren't you at Ostagar? With the Wardens?” 

Alistair looked the men up and down. “...no...” he said slowly, trying to size up the situation. “No, you must have me confused with someone else. Someone very handsome, I'm sure, but not me.”

“There was definitely a Warden who looked like him,” one of the other men said, folding his arms. 

“Lots of people look like me,” Alistair said. “It's a curse, really, I just have one of those faces.”

The tension was growing thicker and Alistair's hand itched to take his blade when someone interrupted them.

“Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble?” they all looked over to see a redheaded Sister coming towards them. Her skin was bone-pale and despite the Chantry habit, she carried a set of twin blades on her back. “He is no doubt simply one more poor soul seeking refuge.”

“He's more than that,” Loghain's man eyed the blade on the Sister's back. “I know this man—he's a Warden, a traitor to the Crown. Stay out of the way, Sister. If you protect him, you'll get the same.”

Alistair's mouth went dry. “Since when are the Wardens traitors?” he burst out. 

“Teryn Loghain claims the Wardens killed the King,” the Sister said before any of the soldiers could speak. She looked back at the soldiers. “You see? If he has not heard the news, surely he is merely another refugee.”

The soldiers narrowed their eyes, and several hands tensed on weapons.

“There is no need to fight,” the Sister urged. “You have all come through much hardship. You should not cast aspersions on this man, simply because he resembles someone you seek.”

Some of the soldiers hesitated, glancing at each other. The man at the front scowled. “We cannot take the chance. Take him into custody,” he instructed his men. “The Sister as well if she gets in your way.” 

Alistair sighed as weapons were drawn, and he found himself back-to-back with the Sister, fighting off the soldiers. 

He made a mental note to never, ever separate from his traveling companions again. Ever. At least mages were good at scaring opponents off or blowing them up.

On the other hand, the Sister was extremely good with her blades, and she and Alistair made short work of the soldiers. 

Fortunately, they did not need to kill them—the leader surrendered after Alistair broke his arm.

The Sister smiled at that, and sheathed her blades. “Good. You have learnt your lesson and we can all stop fighting now.”

“Alright, I want to know what this is about the Wardens getting the King killed?” Alistair said, sheathing his sword as well. 

“I was there!” the soldier snapped. “The teryn pulled us all out of a trap!”

Alistair scowled, and the Sister put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on,” she told Alistair. “If you are not a Warden, this is no business of ours.” she squeezed his shoulder tightly.

“Uh—right,” Alistair said, with a glance at the Sister. He glanced down at the soldier, who was cradling his broken arm. “Well I—uh, I hope you learned something about attacking random strangers.”

He and the Sister left them. 

“I apologize for interfering,” the Sister said. “But I couldn't just sit by and not help.”

“I appreciate it,” Alistair said. “Really! Just me against five men with nice swords? I'd never stand a chance.”

“Are you by yourself?”

“Me and the people I'm with decided to split up,” he sighed. “I just needed to see the smith, I didn't need all this!”

“I am glad you found it in your heart to offer those men mercy,” the Sister said seriously.

“Me? Did we not go over the whole 'five big men with better swords and armor than me' thing?”

“You could have kept fighting, even he surrendered,” she pointed out. “You could have struck him down. You did not.”

Alistair flushed. “Well...you know, I don't think that's...the right thing to do, killing an unarmed man, in the middle of town. I broke his arm, after all.” he said. “Hey—what's your name, anyway? We fought together, might as well learn names. Or should I just call you 'the scary Sister with the knives?'”

She laughed. “I am Leliana, and I am only a laysister for the Chantry here. See?” she pointed at the Chantry in the center of town.

“I'm Alistair.”

“Those men said you were a Gray Warden,” she said.

“Ah—yes, but--” he rubbed the back of his head. 

She looked up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “You are not a very good liar.”

“I just keep getting insulted by women,” he said with a sigh. 

She looked stricken. “It was not an insult!” she protested. “It is a good thing, it means you are an honest man.”

“Oh! Oh, well, thank you.”

“You are fighting Darkspawn, yes? You will need help. That is why I am coming along.”

“Coming along?” he was brought up short, and he stared at her. “Wait—you can't just _decide_ that!”

“Why not?”

“Well, first of all—I need to find the people I'm with,” he told her. “I can't really make a decision to bring someone along without talking to them, too.”

“Oh,” Leliana nodded. “I see. Well we shall find them, then, and then I shall come with you.”

Alistair sighed. “Alright...I mean, you _were_ very good with your daggers, that's true. And that would make you the first member of our party to have a bladed weapon that's not terrible.”

Leliana laughed again, and they set off for the Inn. 

 

“So you were left on your lonesome for a bare few hours, and you somehow managed to get into some variety of altercation?” Morrigan said, shaking her head. They had met back up at the inn, where Kitranna and Morrigan had secured a table, despite the press of people in the room. 

“It was not his fault,” Leliana said. “He was recognized.”

“Speaking of which, if _you_ can be recognized, _you_ certainly will be,” Morrigan said, pointing to Alistair and Kitranna in turn. “We should leave as soon as we are able.”

“I agree,” Leliana said. “This place is dangerous for you.”

“You really want to come with us?” Kitranna asked. 

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The Maker told me to.”

Everyone stared at her. 

“...did he now?” Kitranna managed. 

Leliana looked away. “I...I know that sounds absolutely insane,” she admitted.

Morrigan snorted. 

“But it is true! I had a dream! A vision!”

“And here I thought you seemed like a perfectly normal person,” Alistair sighed. 

“Look at the people here,” Leliana said, gesturing around the room. “They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this...chaos will spread. The Maker doesn't want this. What you do, what you are meant to do, is the Maker's work.”

Kitranna deliberately leaned forward and said, quietly so as to not be overheard; “I am a _mage_.”

Leliana blinked at her. “...yes?” she said when Kitranna did not elaborate.

Kitranna frowned. “I am a mage, and yet I can do the Maker's work?”

Leliana still looked confused. “Of course!” she said. “Anyone can.”

Kitranna narrowed her eyes. “You don't think that I'm cursed?” she said. “Dangerous? Something to be locked up and prayed over?”

“No, of course not!” Leliana said, shocked.

Kitranna sat back in her seat. She pursed her lips and rubbed her forehead. 

“Why would you think such a thing?” Leliana asked.

Kitranna looked at her. “Have you not paid the slightest bit of attention?” she snapped. “I thought you were a laysister. Haven't you heard all that rot about mages being the bane of Thedas?”

Leliana slowly shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, I have heard nothing of that.”

Kitranna gaped at her. “But...”

“Your Chantry declares all magic outside the Circles to be dangerous and wicked,” Morrigan cut in. “Have you truthfully not heard this?”

“They do not say that,” Leliana insisted. “Those with magic must be guided and watched, yes, lest a demon attack them, but magic is not evil. It is a tool, one difficult to control, yes, but never _evil_.”

Kitranna growled to herself and looked away.

“Is that what they told you in the Circle?” Leliana asked, aghast.

“That's definitely how a lot of Circle people see it,” Alistair muttered. 

“A curse,” Kitranna growled. “A sign of the Maker's hatred for my people's sins. A sign that the Maker will not return to the world. Something that makes me evil, makes me dangerous, makes me need to be _locked up_.”

Leliana was shocked. “That is not how the Maker is!” she said. “Now I must come with you for sure—you must know that the Chantry is not how the Circle shows it to be!”

Kitranna ground her teeth, and Alistair leaned forward. “We can't really turn away help...” Alistair said. “And she's good with a blade. Also, she _has_ a blade.”

“Oh—did you manage to find a sword, by the way?” Kitranna asked.

“It's more of a club with a blade, but yes, I found one.”

Morrigan's mouth twisted. “I would advise against taking her with us,” she said, nodding at Leliana. 

“If you're against it, I say we let her on board,” Alistair said. 

Kitranna kneaded her forehead. “She really knows how to use those knives?” she asked Alistair.

“I can pick locks, also,” Leliana pointed out.

Kitranna perked up immediately. “Oh! None of us knows how to do that!” she said. “You can come with us.”

Leliana blinked, then laughed. “I should have mentioned my skills earlier,” she said. 

“Might have helped,” Kitranna said. 

“Anyway...” Alistair said with a deliberate look at Kitranna. “We were talking about where we intend to go, first.”

Kitranna leaned her head on her hand. “I don't know,” she said. “I barely know what Ferelden is like off of a map.”

“If Loghain's men are searching for you, perhaps you should avoid cities for the moment,” Leliana pointed out. “What are your aims?”

“Who do the Gray Wardens have treaties with?” Kitranna asked Alistair.

“The Circle of Magi, Orzammar, and any Dalish Clan,” he said. He rubbed the back of his head. “The Dalish part is a little tricky because they're not one big group like the Circle or the dwarves or anyone else, and the Treaty was made back when they still had the Dales, but they usually listen to Gray Wardens.” 

“The Dalish will be the most difficult group to find,” Morrigan said. “They move quickly. If you wish to locate a Clan before they leave Ferelden, as I suspect they will once they learn of the Blight, you should do so soon.”

Kitranna's mouth twisted. She'd heard stories of the Dalish, how they tossed mage members of their Clans to the Circle, not wanting them. 

“I suppose if we need them,” she said. “I'm not sure, though.”

“Why not?” Alistair asked. “Aren't you an elf, too?”

“Many Dalish do not favor elves from outside their Clans,” Morrigan pointed out.

“And they don't like mages, either,” Kitranna said.

Morrigan raised her eyebrows at Kitranna and frowned. “I would not trust any stories you heard of the Dalish inside the Circle,” she said. 

Kitranna shrugged and looked away.

“I say we should go to Arl Eamon first,” Alistair said. “But...if Loghain's looking for us, and he knows we escaped, us, specifically--”

“You think he'll look for us in Redcliffe?” Kitranna asked. 

Alistair nodded. “I know Arl Eamon,” he said. “And he and Loghain never really got on anyway—it'd be the choice that made sense.”

“So you need to do the unexpected,” Leliana said. “The Brecelian Forest is very unexpected, and very difficult to find people in. We should go there first.”

Alistair looked at Kitranna. “What do you think? The Brecelian?”

“Where's Orzammar?” Kitranna asked.

Alistair grimaced. “Further away than the Brecelian, I can tell you that,” he said. “I wouldn't much fancy going this time of year, either. The mountains will be a nightmare to get through—that's one of the reasons Orlais was taking so long to get us any help, the Frostbacks are just terrible now, and they'll only get worse when winter actually sets in.”

Kitranna sighed. “The Brecelian, then,” she said. “We'll go there.”

They didn't spend the night in the inn. They left quickly, not wanting to encounter any more soldiers. They got what little supplies there was to be had, most of it having been taken up by the refugees.

There was a group of Chasind who had been chased out of the Wilds among the refugees, and oddly, one imprisoned Qunari man. Kitranna thought he was vashothari at first—though he had no horns, the gray cast of his skin and his towering stature gave him away. 

They approached the cage he was captive in, and he frowned, looking them over.

“You are not one of my captors,” he said. He had a deep, rumbling voice with a thick accent that Kitranna couldn't identify. “I will not amuse you any more than I have anyone else. Leave me in peace.”

“Why are you in there?” Kitranna asked. 

“I have been placed here by the Chantry.”

“Sure, but why?”

“I have been convicted of murder. Have the villagers not spoken of this?”

“If they have, I haven't noticed,” Kitranna said. 

“I am curious,” Morrigan said. “Are you truthfully guilty of this crime?” she asked him. 

“Are you asking if I feel guilt, or if I am responsible for the deed?” he said. “However I feel, whatever I've done, my life is forfeit now.”

“Oh!” Leliana exclaimed. “I have heard the Revered Mother speak of this man,” she said to Kitranna. “He is a Qunari who did kill several people.” 

“A Qunari?” Kitranna exclaimed. “Not vashothari?”

The man's lip curled. “I am Sten of the Beresaad, of the Qunari,” he confirmed. “I am no vashoth or tal-vashoth.”

“We should move on,” Kitranna said quickly, grabbing Alistair's arm. “Come on, let's go.”

“And leave him trapped, as bait for the darkspawn?” Morrigan said. 

“Why not?” Kitranna said. “You know what the Qunari do to mages.”

Morrigan hesitated. “That I do,” she said. “That is hardly his doing.”

“He killed a family of eight,” Leliana said. “Including children.”

“Yeah, we're leaving,” Kitranna said. “I draw the line at Qunari child-murderers.”

The Qunari didn't say anything as they left, just watched them go. Morrigan glanced over her should at him, her eyes narrowed in thought, but they left him behind.

 

They acquired the supplies that they could from Lothering, and then set off on the dwarven road again. They took the road east, towards the Brecelian.

They were not an hour out of Lothering when they ran into a group of Darkspawn harassing a pair of dwarven merchants. 

They took down the Darkspawn easily, but were unnerved by their presence. 

Kitranna heaved a breath. “How are there darkspawn so close here already?” she asked, lowering her staff and putting it on her back. 

Alistair shook his head, sheathing his sword. “The Horde must be closer than we thought,” he said, biting his lip. 

Leliana had already put her blades away and was focused on the two dwarves. 

“Mighty timely arrival there, my friends,” said one of the dwarves. “I'm much obliged.”

Kitranna turned to him. “No problem,” she said. 

“Name's Bodahn Feddic,” the dwarf said. “Merchant and entrepreneur. This here's my boy, Sandal.” he gestured to the other dwarf with him, a short-haired young man with large blue eyes. “Say hello, Sandal.”

Sandal gave a shy “Hello,” but didn't say anything else.

Bodahn sighed. “Road's been mighty dangerous these days. Might I ask where you're going? Could be we're going the same way.”

Kitranna glanced aroun at her companions before saying “We're going east. To the Brecelian.”

Bodahn laughed. “My, that's a bit of a journey, isn't it?”

“It's complicated.”

“I imagine that only says half of it!”

Kitranna smiled. “It does. I...guess you could follow us if you wanted, but it's not exactly a safe trip.” 

Bodahn nodded. “There may be more excitement on your path than is good for my boy and me. Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune.”

“G'bye,” Sandal said, with a little wave. 

“Goodbye,” Kitranna said, and her group was off again.

“They were a bit odd, weren't they?” Alistair asked.

Kitranna shrugged. “I wouldn't know.”

“All dwarven merchants are a bit odd,” Leliana said. “Even surface dwarves.”

“Have you met many dwarves?” Kitranna asked.

Leliana shrugged. “A few, I suppose. More than most people. I have traveled a great deal.”

“I noticed,” Alistair said. “Couldn't exactly miss the accent.”

Leliana chuckled. “Ah, I see. I have not been in Ferelden long, you see. I have tried to get rid of it—many Fereldens don't like to hear a Sister with an Orlesian accent.”

“Makes sense, I suppose.”

“Yes, it does.”

It would take them much longer to get to the Brecelian than it had to get from the Wilds to Lothering, three weeks, and then however many days it took to locate one of the Clans. 

No one had any idea which Clan was in residence in the Brecelian at the moment. As far as the Wardens knew, according to Alistair, there were roughly ten Clans of varying sizes that cycled through the Brecelian on a regular basis. There were other, smaller Clans up north, at least one that stuck to the Frostbacks, and one notable Clan that for some reason hovered around various entrances to the Deep Roads. However, if one wanted to find a Clan, and a large one at that, the best bet would be head to the Brecelian. 

The only reason the Wardens knew any of this was because there was one Dalish Warden stationed in Ferelden—or there had been, before Ostagar. 

Neither Leliana nor Morrigan knew anything about Ferelden Dalish Clans. Morrigan had seen several who passed through the Wilds, but she and Flemeth had mostly avoided them, like they avoided everyone else. 

Leliana had only met one member of a Dalish Clan, and she told the story one night on the road. 

“It was very strange,” she explained. “She was separated from the rest of her Clan, I think, and dressed all in beautiful furs and hides. She smelled like Lyrium—worse than a Templar. She had those lovely tattoos on her face and I honestly barely understood a word she said, her Common was so odd.”

“Was this in Orlais or Ferelden?” Alistair asked. 

“The border,” Leliana said. “I was crossing over the Frostbacks. Explains why she had the furs, I suppose.” 

“What was she doing there?” Kitranna wanted to know.

Leliana shrugged. “I don't know. She was just...very odd. She was nice enough, but she said a great many things that I did not understand. Other than that, I don't really know anything about the Dalish.”

“That could not be clearer,” Morrigan muttered. 

Leliana was a pleasant enough traveling companion, if somewhat preachy. She was, however, extremely good with her daggers, so that was something. She and Alistair got on well enough, and she liked the dog (who still did not have an official name as of yet), but she and Morrigan argued almost constantly. 

Although Morrigan was prickly and rude, Kitranna still preferred her company to that of either Alistair or Leliana, however.

“Did you grow up in the Wilds?” Kitranna asked the other woman one evening.

Morrigan wrinkled her nose. “Why do you ask me such questions?” she demanded. “I do not probe you for pointless information, do I?”

“You could if you wanted to,” Kitranna pointed out. “I wouldn't mind.”

Morrigan deflated somewhat, mollified. She chuckled. “Oh, what luck! What is it you ask? If I...'grew up' in the Wilds?”

“Yes.”

“Where else would you picture me?”

Kitranna shrugged. “I don't know. I find it a bit hard to picture anything outside the Circles at all.”

“...ah.” Morrigan got that funny, pitying look on her face for an instant. Kitranna scowled at her, and Morrigan frowned right back, but continued. “For many years, it was simply Flemeth and I. The Wilds and its creatures were more real to me that Flemeth's tales of the world of man.”

Kitranna put her chin on her hands. “Sounds familiar.”

“Does it? Does living in the Circle sound so similar to my life in the Wilds?”

“A bit.” 

“How so?” Morrigan pressed. “I left the Wilds, when I grew curious. You could not.”

Kitranna's face darkened. “No. I couldn't. But I know what you mean about everything outside the place you lived not seeming real.” she looked up at the sky. “The Fade was always more real to me than anything outside the Tower.”

“Are you a dreamwalker?” Morrigan asked.

“A what?” 

“A somniari? The ancient Elvhen word for them is 'ive'an'virelan'—'walker of the Fade.'” 

Kitranna shook her head. “I don't think so. I've read about them, though. I thought they were all gone.”

Morrigan shrugged. “I do not know. I have never met one. However, there are many things thought to be lost that have simply been forgotten or misplaced.”

“Hm.” Kitranna leaned forward. “You said you left the Wilds.”

“Back to me, are we?”

“Yeah.” 

Morrigan sighed. “I never left for long. Brief forays into a civilized wilderness.”

“How come no one ever caught you?”

Morrigan smiled. “Flemeth taught me well. But however well I had been taught, the truth of the civilized lands proved to be...overwhelming.”

“How so?”

“I was unfamiliar with so much. So confident and bold was I, yet there was much Flemeth could never have prepared me for.”

“Did you ever get hurt?”

Morrigan tilted her head to the side. “No. Not in any lasting way. Only once was I ever accused of being a mage, and that by a Chasind who happened to be traveling with a merchant caravan.” she chuckled to herself. “He identified me as a Witch of the Wilds—he pointed and gasped and began shouting in his own language, which, being merchants, naturally his companions did not know. They assumed he was putting a curse on me. I acted the terrified girl, and he was arrested.”

“Quick thinking.”

Morrigan smirked. “Men are always willing to believe two things about a woman; one, that she is weak, and two, that she finds him attractive. I played the weakling and batted my eyelashes at the captain of the guard. Child's play. The point being that I was able to move through human lands fairly easily. Whatever most humans think a Witch of the Wilds looks like, 'tis not I.”

Kitranna peered at her. “Aren't you a human?”

“Mostly,” Morrigan said. She tapped her cheek under one brilliant yellow eye. “My sire was an elf, or so Flemeth says.”

Kitranna nodded. “Ah, I see.”

“Not that I did not have trouble,” Morrigan added. “there are things about human society that have always puzzled me. Such as all the _touching_ —why so much touching for a simple greeting?”

“I have no idea—we never did that much in the Tower, so I don't really understand it either.”

“You did not?”

“No. Everyone was crowded anyways—we kind of...tried to avoid touching each other.” she fingered the bridge of her nose. “That, and the Templars always watched who you were friends with.”

Morrigan frowned. “Why would they do such a thing?”

“I think they wanted to keep an eye on people they thought might get each other pregnant or something,” Kitranna said, hunching her shoulders.

Morrigan let out a breath. “Ah, I see—I understand you are not allowed to have children in the Circle.”

“Well, you _can_ —they just take them away.”

Morrigan scowled. “Horrid. Why do you let them cage you in such a way?”

Kitranna looked up at her sharply. “Who said I _let_ them?”

“You had not escaped before the Wardens recruited you, yes?”

“I couldn't,” Kitranna insisted. 

“How so? Want anything enough and it will be done.”

“Have you ever had a Silence put on you?” Kitranna asked in a low voice.

“I have never had the pleasure.”

“Makes your ears ring, twists up your insides—makes it feel like something's squeezing your chest,” Kitranna murmured. “Everything goes quiet. Quieter than anything in the whole world. It's like the air turns to iron, it's so heavy.”

“Surely you can fight it--”

“You try, and they run you through,” Kitranna snapped. “If you fight they say you're an Abomination, a demon, and they kill you or make you Tranquil. How am I supposed to fight that?”

Morrigan sat back, considering. “I would find it preferable to be dead than to be in such a cage,” she said at last. “Do you not agree?”

“No!” Kitranna exclaimed. “No, I don't!” she hugged her knees close to her chest. “Some people agree with you, though,” she said. 

“Do they?”

“Lot of suicides.” Kitranna said bluntly. “They used to jump—but then they sealed off all the windows to stop that happening, so people got creative. Knew one girl who cut her throat.” she smirked without any kind of mirth in the expression. “She did it right in front of the Templars by the front door. They thought she knew blood magic, and they had their swords on her and Silences and everything, but she just opened her throat up right in front of them.”

Morrigan looked at her for a long moment. “What did they do after that?”

“Who? The mages or the Templars?”

“Both.”

Kitranna shrugged and picked at the ground. “Went on. I don't know what they do with dead mages. We don't have a graveyard or anything in the Tower.”

“Mm,” Morrigan nodded. “I suppose they would not wish risking the bodies being used by an errant Necromancer.”

“We don't teach Necromancy in the Circles.”

“But I thought—that is a Nevarran art, Necromancy, is Nevarran magic not approved by the Chantry?”

“It involves dead bodies, do you really think the Circle would allow it?”

Morrigan sniffed. “I suppose they would not.”

“No. They wouldn't.”

Morrigan's mouth curled. “The Chantry has no respect for mages and their power,” she said. “They think you are incapable of controlling yourselves, that you are dangerous animals.”

“Pretty much.”

“We must go to the Circle in order to acquire aid from the mages,” Morrigan pointed out. “What do you plan to do?”

Kitranna closed her eyes. “I don't know.” she admitted. 

 

They encountered the assassin about a week out from the Brecelian, when they walked straight into a trap. 

A woman had come up to them on the road, begging for help. It had seemed suspicious, but just plausible enough to be true, so they followed her. 

Now they were trapped in a small valley, surrounded by soldiers. Kitranna pulled her staff off her back, summoning a Barrier spell to stave off the opponents' arrows. Leliana cocked her crossbow. Morrigan assumed the shape of a giant bear, making at least two of their attackers drop their weapons in shock. Alistair pulled out his sword and shield. 

“We should leave one of them alive!” Leliana called. 

“If you insist,” Kitranna shouted back. 

The battle was not very long. The trap, though well-laid, had not been expecting the size of their group and skill of the party members. 

They left one man alive, the one they assumed to be the leader of this little ambush, as the woman who had lured them here had gone to him first. Kitranna had hit him with a strong sleeping spell, so he was still out of it as Leliana tied him hand and foot. 

He was a slight elvhen man, dressed in metal armor and equipped with a pair of fine daggers that Leliana identified as of Antivan make. Leliana frowned as she turned the daggers over in her hand. 

“Something the matter?” Kitranna asked.

Leliana shook her head. “It is odd that he has these,” she said. “There are very few Antivan weapons in Ferelden, I have found.”

“Maybe he's Antivan,” Kitranna said with a shrug.

“That would open up a great many nasty possibilities,” Leliana said. “Can you wake him so we can question him?” 

Kitranna took the sleep spell off, and the man began to wake. 

He blinked sleepily, and groaned when he saw them. “I rather thought I would wake up dead,” he said, and his thick accent confirmed the possibility of him being Antivan. “Or not wake up at all, as the case may be.” he tilted his head to one side. He had long blonde hair pulled away from his face with several braids, and he blew a stray strand of it out of his eyes. “I see you have not killed me yet.”

“We have questions,” Alistair said.

“Ah,” the man nodded. “So I am to be interrogated. Let me save you some time. My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends, and I am a member of the Antivan Crows--”

Leliana let out a sigh and shook her head. 

Zevran smirked at her. “You know of us, I see? I was brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any remaining Gray Wardens, a task I have failed at, sadly.”

“Not so sad for us,” Kitranna pointed out.

“No, you are right, it is quite fortunate for you. Less so for me.”

“So...who was it that hired you?” Kitranna asked. 

“A rather taciturn fellow in the capital—Loghain, I think he was called.”

“How did you know where we were?” Kitranna asked. 

“Well, really, how many parties containing an elf mage, a swordsman and an apparent witch are there on the roads?” Zevran said. “I simply looked for the group best fitting the description, and here you are.” 

“Are we really drawing that much attention?” Kitranna wanted to know.

“Considering you have not one but _two_ mages in your party, one of which can turn into a bear,” Zevran eyed Morrigan with some trepidation. “I would say so, yes.”

Kitranna narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. “Why are you telling us all this?”

“Why not?” he said with a shrug. “I was not paid for my silence. Not that I offered it, exactly.”

Kitranna looked at her companions. “I like him,” she said. 

“That pleases me greatly to hear, Lady,” Zevran said with a wink. Kitranna chuckled. 

“Surana, he just tried to kill us,” Alistair said. “You do not _like_ assassins!”

“You know, if you are not set on slitting my throat, or something equally gruesome, perhaps you'd like to hear a proposal?” Zevran suggested.

“What do you have in mind?” Kitranna asked. 

“Hearing proposals from assassins is hardly a wise decision,” Morrigan said.

“I just want to hear him out!” Kitranna said. 

“That is exactly the problem here.”

“Here's the thing,” Zevran said. “I could not kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. However, I like living. And you are the sort to give the Crows pause, so, let me serve you, instead.”

“That's a stupid idea,” Alistair said. 

“That is how the Antivan Crows do their business, however...” Leliana pointed out.

“We should not recruit the _assassin_!” Alistair burst out. “He was trying to kill us an hour ago!”

“To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice about joining the Crows,” Zevran admitted with a shrug. “They bought me on the slave market when I was a child—I think I have paid my worth back to them tenfold. The only way to be free of them is to join someone they can't touch.” he raised his bound hands. “Even if I did kill you now, the Crows might simply kill me on principle for failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you.”

“Can you use a sword?” Kitranna asked.

Zevran blinked. “I prefer daggers...” he said. 

“Are you seriously considering this?” Alistair said.

“We still need people,” Kitranna said with a shrug.

“What happened to 'not being desperate enough to recruit murderers?'”

“He was a Qunari who'd murdered children.” Kitranna glanced down at Zevran. “Are you a Qunari?”

Zevran narrowed his eyes in confusion. “No.”

“Have you ever killed children?”

“No.”

“There, you see?” Kitranna told Alistair. “It's fine.”

“What exactly is the story behind that question?” Zevran wanted to know. 

“How is _any_ of this fine?” Alistair demanded. 

“The Crows most likely would kill him for failing his job,” Leliana put in. “That is no lie. There is nothing he could gain from attempting to kill us later.”

“Alright, then we're bringing him with us,” Kitranna said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“No!” Alistair protested. “We should _not_ do that!”

“Why not?” 

“Because he'll probably kill us in our sleep or something!” he insisted.

“That really would do me no favors at this point,” Zevran pointed out. 

“It really wouldn't,” Leliana said. “And we can hardly discount any skills he may have. Crows are known for their skill with daggers, locks and poisons—It would be an excellent idea.”

“Ugh—fine,” Alistair groaned. “It's your fault if he kills us,” he told Kitranna.

“Duly noted,” Kitranna said. She undid Zevran's bonds, and helped him to his feet. 

“I hearby pledge my oath of loyalty to you until such time as you choose to release me from it,” Zevran addressed Kitranna directly. “This I swear.” he inclined his head in a slight bow.

“Wonderful,” Morrigan drawled. “I would watch my food and drink far more closely, were I you,” she informed Kitranna. 

“That's excellent advice for anyone!” Zevran said with a smile. 

 

Zevran stuck close to Kitranna's side as they traveled, gravitating towards her in just about any formation they adopted. Kitranna assumed it was because she was the one who had wanted him to come along the most, and nothing really contradicted that assumption. 

“You come from the Circle, yes?” Zevran asked her at one point.

Kitranna nodded. “Lake Calenhad.”

“What was it like there? I have heard the most _wild_ tales about the Antivan Circle...”

“Miserable,” Kitranna said. “Unless the tales you heard had to do with Abominations, suicides, and Templars stabbing people, they were probably all wrong.”

“Ahh,” Zevran nodded. “I have also heard Templars can be a bit blade-happy, it is true. Then again, many people in Antiva are blade-happy, so I thought perhaps it was different here.”

“Not really. What's it like, being a Crow? How do you become one?” 

“The Crows would have you believe that it is a long and involved process that requires years of training, the sort that tests both your resolve and your endurance. Survive that process and maybe, just maybe, you are good enough to be considered one of them.”

“That's not true?”

“Quite frankly, all it requires is the desire to kill people for a living.”

“Oh. What makes you different from a mercenary?”

“Assassins poison more people. We are also far more romantic and clever a profession.” he smirked and tilted his chin up. 

“Didn't seem that clever when we beat you,” she reminded him. 

“Ah, well, I was not expecting two mages of your skill, was I? Much less two mages as lovely as you.” 

Kitranna laughed. “That's sweet. But really—how are you so different from mercenaries? Couldn't a mercenary poison someone too?”

“Assassins specialize particularly in striking from stealth,” he told her. “In making their first attack the most lethal. Mercenaries are more like soldiers—they are simply different tactical choices, rather than lifestyles.”

Kitranna nodded. “I think Leliana used to be an assassin,” she said.

“Do you now?” Zevran glanced over at Leliana. 

Kitranna nodded. “What Chantry Sister knows how to use knives and can pick locks and traps?”

“Orlais has less of a tradition of assassins,” he said. “I think it more likely she was a bard. Similar skillset, somewhat different approach.” 

“How so?”

“Bards are specialized in the art of killing someone indirectly,” he explained. “With a word, a note, the correct piece of evidence—in Orlais, the nobility kill just as often as they do in Antiva, but the trick is that they would have you believe all the deaths are an accident.”

“Huh.” Kitranna looked over at Leliana. She was chatting with Alistair, and she saw Kitranna looking and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two notes: sten will survive, he just won't appear in moth's wing again. also, this won't have dalish bashing in it, despite kitranna's preconcieved notions of what the dalish are like.


	6. Dysepulotic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am absolutely here for dalish positivity so i bend lore contradictions in my favor because the dalish are awesome
> 
> also i gave the dalish clan in the brecelian a name, because they didn't have one before

They reached the Brecelian a fortnight after being on the road with Zevran. The roads were quiet, the news of darkspawn and warfare having driven trade and travelers to a near standstill. They came across abandoned farms and townships, ones that hadn't even been touched by darkspawn, but people had heard news of them and fled. 

“I hope the Dalish are still there when we get to the Brecelian,” Leliana said, as they walked through a farm that had been abandoned and picked over by scavengers and bandits. “If these people have left already...”

“News will take longer to reach them,” Morrigan said. “Few people brave the Brecelian. There will be someone there. If not, we simply double back and go to try and find one of your other allies.” 

The Brecelian was dark. 

There was a very clear border where the Brecelian ended and everything else began. Ostagar and the Korcari Wilds had been entangled with each other, with ruins reaching deep into the swamps and forests. The sky was more open there, the forest sparse and spread out. 

The Brecelian was different. The trees were enormous evergreens, thick and broad, the foliage all but blocking out the light entirely. It was quiet and dark, and the only ruins they could see were so old no one could identify who the belonged to. 

From almost the instant they set foot in the forest, they had the feeling of being watched. It did not take them long at all to come across the Dalish. 

Three elves met them on the road, two women and one man, all dressed in intricate leather armor. The woman at the head of the group came to meet them, her fellows hanging back. 

The woman who approached them had fair skin, lighter than either Zevran or Kitranna, and blonde hair pulled back sharply away from her face. Her gray-green tattoos were stark and clear, winding over her forehead, under her eyes and on her chin. 

“Hold, outsiders,” she said. She had a thick accent, one difficult to identify. Her eyes roved over their group, her gaze catching on each of them. “The Dalish are camped in this spot. I suggest you move on, and quickly.”

Kitranna moved up. She glanced first at Alistair, then back to the woman. “We're Gray Wardens,” she said. “We need to speak with your leader.”

The woman raised her eyebrows, and shared a look with her compatriots. “A Gray Warden?” she said. “How do we know you speak the truth?”

“Many people come through here pretending to be Wardens, do they?” Alistair said. 

The woman shot him a glare. 

“There's not much point in us lying, is there?” Kitranna said. “And since there's a Blight on--”

The other two Dalish murmured to each other in an unfamiliar tongue, the woman going pale. 

“The Blight has come so soon?” the woman said. She furrowed her eyebrows in though. “A lie would gain you nothing,” she said after a moment “We will take you to our Keeper. Be warned,” she added, her eyes narrowed. “If it is not as you say, remember that our arrows are trained on you.” 

The three Dalish took them back to their camp. They spoke to each other softly, half in Common, and half in their own language. They watched Alistair, Leliana and Morrigan very closely, but did not afford Kitranna or Zevran quite the same scrutiny. 

Their camp was deep in the woods, several hours' walk. It was larger than one might expect, almost the size of a small town. A flock of peculiar deer-like animals watched them as they walked through the entrance. The other Dalish watched them as well, murmuring amongst themselves. Some glared, some looked more curious. Many of them were fair-skinned, like the three hunters, but there were many others who had dark brown skin like Kitranna and Zevran, and one or two who were even darker. 

The camp was set up amidst ruins that were so old they had almost entirely been consumed by the forest. There were still statues here, however, ancient worn figures. Many of them held lamps, or were surrounded by crates and other items. One was used to hold up an aravel that was missing a wheel. 

“I see we have guests,” a tall elvhen man approached them, a woman at his side. He was very tall, of a height with Alistair, his skin white as paper. He was bald, and the tattoos on his face were not as stark as they were on the faces of the hunters, as if they had faded over time. In one hand he bore what was clearly a mages' staff. 

The woman was shorter and stouter, with blonde hair bound in a bun at the back of her head. She carried a staff as well, on her back. She and the man exchanged a look as they approached.

“Who are these outsiders, Mithra?” he addressed the hunter who had brought them, and looked the group over with a slight frown. “I have precious little time and less patience to spend on outsiders.”

“Gray Wardens, Keeper,” Mithra said. “Or so they claim. They speak of a Blight—I thought it best to take them to you.”

“That was wise of you,” the Keeper assured her. “Mas serannas, Mithra. You may return to your post.” 

She inclined her head. “Ma nuvenin, Keeper.” she left them. 

The Keeper focused his attention on Kitranna and the others. “You are Gray Wardens?” he said. 

“We are,” Kitranna said. “I'm Warden Kitranna Surana, and that's Warden Alistair.”

“And your companions?” he looked at Leliana, Zevran and Morrigan. 

“They aren't Wardens, but they're with us.”

“Hm.” the Keeper looked at his companion, and the woman raised an eyebrow at him. They had a quiet conversation, in their own language so they couldn't be understood. 

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said, at last switching back to Common. “I am Zathrian, the Keeper to Clan Leanvunlas, its guide and protector.” he sighed. “The Wardens have become desperate enough to reach out to my people, I see.”

“Well, there _is_ a Blight on,” Kitranna said. “Archdemon and everything. We don't exactly have a lot of options.”

“I could sense the corruption spreading in the south,” Zathrian said. “The existence of the Blight is not news to me.”

“You _sensed_ the corruption?” Alistair exclaimed. “How'd you do that?”

An unreadable expression flickered across Zathrian's face as he glanced in Alistair's direction. “Why would I tell you?” he said. “We are not allies as of yet.”

“If you know about the Blight, why are you still here?” Kitranna asked. 

Zathrian pursed his lips and began to pace. “We do not currently have the ability to move,” he said. “If we did, we would have been away long before now.” he fingered the bridge of his nose. “I imagine you are here regarding the treaties we signed centuries ago. Unfortunately, we may not be able to live up to the promise we made.”

“What?” Kitranna exclaimed. “Why not?”

“This will require some explanation,” Zathrian informed her. “Follow me.” he showed them to the other side of the camp, where a makeshift hospice had been set up. Several wounded elves lay on stretchers, tended to by their Clanmates. 

Zathrian lay a hand on the forehead of one of the wounded elves, a man whose face was pinched and pained even in sleep. Zathrian's hand glowed with the soft white light of a weak healing spell, and the man relaxed incrementally. 

“The Clan came to the Brecelian one month ago, as is our custom when we enter this part of Ferelden,” Zathrian told them. He turned away from the wounded man. “We are always wary of the dangers in the forest, but we did not expect the werewolves would be lying in wait for us.”

“Werewolves?” Kitranna gasped. 

“The Brecelian is afflicted with a werewolf curse?” Morrigan said, raising her eyebrows.

Zathrian nodded. “Yes—they ambushed us, and though we drove the beasts back, much damage was done. Many of our hunters and warriors are dead already, some lay dying as we speak.” he kneeled down by the stretcher of another wounded elf, this one a woman with long black hair. Her breath was shallow and quick, and Zathrian lay a healing hand on her side. 

“If their wounds were caused by werewolves...” Morrigan said.

“We will be forced to slay our bretheren, yes,” Zathrian said. He got to his feet. “The Blight's evil must be stopped, yes,” he told them. “But we are in no position to fulfill our obligations. I am truly sorry.”

Kitranna furrowed her brow, thinking. “We need to talk,” she said, jerking her head in her companions' direction. 

“If you wish,” Zathrian said. “I would suggest you reach a decision soon, however.”

The Wardens and their companions walked a little ways away, towards a more isolated section of the camp. The Dalish hunters still trailed them, but at a large enough distance to give at least the illusion of privacy. 

“How did he know about the Blight already?” Alistair hissed. “He _'sensed'_ it—what does that mean?”

“I have heard of this Keeper Zathrian,” Morrigan said. “He is quite old, and knows much magic that is long forgotten.”

“We should leave,” Kitranna said. “They can't help us and we don't have much time.”

“There must be something we can do,” Leliana said, glancing at her companions. “Surely we cannot leave them to fend for themselves!”

Kitranna's lip curled. “Would they help us?” she retorted. “Zathrian said he would have gone north by now if he could have—they throw their own mages to the Templars, why would they bother to help us?” 

“Are you quite sure that is true?” Zevran asked, glancing at her. “I have encountered Antivan Clans—I have never met one who practiced that.”

“You're sure?” Kitranna said. “Because the Circle's had at least a few Dalish come to us.”

Zevran nodded. “Quite sure—they were frequently hunted by Templars because of the mages they had in their Clans.”

Kitranna pursed her lips. “We'll ask him,” she said, nodding in Zathrian. “We'll ask what's going on and then I'll ask him about the mages, and then I'll decide.”

She went to Zathrian, who was by the side of an elvhen woman who had a vicious gash across her chest.

“What have you decided?” the older elf asked, not looking away from the injured woman he was tending to. 

“Tell me more about what's happening,” Kitranna said. “Tell us what we can do.”

Zathrian turned to face them. “The only thing that could help must come from the source of the curse itself,” he said. “It would be no trivial task to retrieve.”

Kitranna pursed her lips. “Tell us what it is,” she said. “We'll see what we can do.”

“Within the forest dwells a great wolf,” Zathrian explained. “We call him Witherfang. It was within him that the curse originated, and through his blood it has been spread. If he is killed and his heart brought to me, perhaps I could destroy the curse—but this task has proven too dangerous for us.” he closed his eyes. “I sent several hunters into the forest a week ago, but they have not returned. I cannot risk any more of my Clan.”

“Perhaps we may succeed,” Leliana said. “If--”

“How could we succeed in killing this thing where they failed?” Kitranna demanded. She turned on Zathrian. “Do you even know if this would work?” 

“I do not,” Zathrian admitted. “But it's the only hope we have left.”

Something tightened around Kitranna's chest. 

“I...” she hesitated. “If we help you, you would help us?” she asked. 

Zathrian inclined his head. “We would do what we are able to do,” he said. “Right now, we may do nothing.”

“Before we help you...I want to know something,”

Zathrian narrowed his eyes. “I will answer what is in my power to answer,” he said slowly, his expression dubious.

“Do you really care so much about these people?” Kitranna asked.

Zathrian's eyes flashed. “How could you ask me such a thing?” he exclaimed. The eyes of the other Dalish turned to them. “You question my devotion to my Clan?” sparks began to gather around Zathrian's form. 

“You would turn them out if they were mages, wouldn't you?” Kitranna snarled. 

Zathrian blinked, taken aback. “...I beg your pardon?” he said. The sparks suddenly went out, and all the other Dalish began muttering amongst each other, sounding confused. “Would I _what_?”

“That's what you do, isn't it?” Kitranna insisted. “If you have mages, you leave them for the Templars?”

Zathrian stared at her. “... _I_ am a mage,” he said, slowly, as if she were a bit dim. “My First, Lanaya, is a mage. There are several other mages here—what _are_ you talking about?”

“If you don't turn them out, how is it that Dalish children come to the Circle?” Kitranna said. 

The mood of the other Dalish turned sour again, and Zathrian's expression grew dark. 

“Do your Templars honestly tell you that the children stolen from our Clans were cast out?” he said. 

“That's what they say,” Kitranna snapped. 

The Dalish began murmuring angrily to one another, and Zathrian breathed out hard through his nose. 

“The Circle has long hounded our Clans,” he said. “They will kill our mages and steal our children—our Clan has not suffered this for some time, but we know of many Clans who have. Is that what they tell them? They tell the children they have captured that we did not _want_ them?”

“ _Yes_!”

Zathrian clenched his fist. “That is--” he choked on his words. He had gone pale with rage. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and looked at Kitranna again. “Who is your family?” he asked her. “Where did you come from?”

“I don't know,” Kitranna said with a shrug. “They always told me I came from a city.” 

“Ah,” Zathrian nodded. “A city cousin...perhaps that is something, at least.”

Kitranna looked up at him sharply. “Perhaps it's _what_?”

“At least you were not taken from a Clan,” he said. “They did not poison your mind against your own people. Listen to me,” he told her. “If a child is born to us, we will do everything possible to protect and keep them. There are precious few of us as it is, and we do not turn out _children_.” at the last word, he flared momentarily with a brilliant magical aura before getting himself under control again.

Kitranna looked up at him and met his eyes. She studied him for a long minute, her lips pursed. She looked over his shoulder, at the wounded Dalish on their stretchers. 

“Alright,” she said. “Alright. We'll see what we can do to help you—but you better help us.”

“Hm,” Zathrian tilted his head up. “We will do what we can, da'len.” 

Zathrian told them that if they needed anything in particular, to ask Lanaya, his First. They went to one edge of the camp, away from the other Dalish, and began to plan.

Lanaya came over and met them. Her facial tattoos were dark green, and looked like two branches on either side of her face, meeting in the center of her forehead. 

“Ander'an'atish'an, Gray Wardens,” she said, inclining her head. 

“Hello,” Kitranna said. The others nodded and murmured their own greetings, busy with their equipment. 

“I am Lanaya, Keeper Zathrian's First,” she said. “What you might call an apprentice.” she tilted her head and peered intently at Kitranna. “Did they really tell you that the Dalish turn mages out of their Clans?” she asked. 

Kitranna nodded. “They really did.”

Lanaya shuddered. “That is terrible,” she said. 

“Are you _sure_ other Clans don't do that?” Kitranna said, her expression dubious.

“Of course they don't!” Lanaya said. “Well—none _I've_ ever met have done that!”

“Hm.” Kitranna frowned and looked away. 

“Do you know much about the outside world?” Lanaya asked. “I'm curious.”

“Not really,” Kitranna said. “Leliana might, or Zevran,” she nodded towards her companions.

Lanaya glanced at Leliana and Zevran in turn. 

“Is it difficult, working with shemlen?” Lanaya asked in a quiet voice.

“Not always,” Kitranna said. “You don't know many humans?”

Lanaya shook her head. “The only humans I have ever known were the group of bandits the Clan saved me from when I was a child,” she explained. “We try to stay away from humans.”

“Do you stay away from all humans?” Leliana asked, approaching them.

Lanaya looked her up and down, fascinated. “Yes,” she said. “Most humans are not friendly to us, nor us to them.”

Leliana grimaced. “I cannot contest that,” she admitted. “But humans are not all bad, just as not all elves are good—surely there must be some way to get along.”

Lanaya tilted her head back and narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps when the shemlen return the land and the people they have taken from us,” she said. “I do not see how, otherwise.”

Leliana blinked. “I suppose that must be...hard,” she said. “I am sorry.”

“Are other humans sorry, for what they did to us?”

“I could not say.” Leliana bit her lip. “I hope so.”

Lanaya then pointed them in the correct direction, and they left the camp to go deeper into the woods. Zathrian believed that Witherfang occupied an ancient ruin, some kind of burial ground that none of the Dalish liked to get very close to. 

The woods were quiet, uncomfortably so. There was little birdsong on the air and the sound of other animals was entirely absent. Zathrian had warned them to be wary of not just werewolves, but stray spirits and magical creatures when they entered the woods. 

They walked for over an hour, encountering nothing. They saw more ruins, old statues and the skeletons of buildings, all with a peculiar magic clinging to them. The Fade was in tatters, not damaged exactly, but worn through, as if it were a piece of cloth that had simply become too old to hold itself together.

Eventually, they encountered one of the werewolves. 

A howling of wolves came up all around them, and they were suddenly beset by normal wolves, large gray beasts who attacked them without fear. Backing the wolves up however, was something much worse.

It was an enormous figure, standing on two legs but much larger than any human or elf or even a vashothari. It had a hunched back and was covered in gray fur, its hands long and clawed, its teeth bared. 

It went straight for Alistair, who struggled to fight it. Kitranna stayed back, using her spells at a distance, while Leliana did the same, armed with a bow and arrow. Morrigan stayed at the back for a time before turning into a large bear and going to Alistair's aid, and Zevran was immediately there with a pair of poisoned daggers. 

As a bear, Morrigan was the same size the werewolf was, and she, Zevran and Alistair took the werewolf down (with the aid of the dog), while Kitranna and Leliana took care of the ordinary wolves. Finally, their opponents were all dealt with. 

Alistair panted and leaned heavily on his shield. Morrigan turned back into a woman, and went to retrieve her staff. 

“Are you alright?” Kitranna asked, coming over and putting a hand on Morrigan's shoulder. “Did it bite either of you?”

Alistair shook his head. “No, no, I'm fine,” he gasped.

“I am well,” Morrigan said, looking over her arms and legs. “it attempted to bite me several times, but it was not successful.”

"I am fine as well," Zevran said, wiping blood off his daggers.

“That was just one,” Kitranna said, standing over the body of the werewolf. It was huge, even in death. “What do we do when we come across a whole pack of them?” she glanced up at her companions.

“This explains why the Dalish were having such trouble,” Leliana said quietly. “Is this—can we do this by ourselves?”

“I do not see any other way,” Zevran said.

Kitranna scowled. “Come on,” she said. “We need to keep moving.”

They pushed deeper into the woods. Kitranna furrowed her brow and moved to the front of the group.

They could just leave the forest, make a break for it. They could easily abandon the Dalish and try to find help elsewhere, but Kitranna found herself not wanting to. She wasn't going to let any werewolves get the best of her—no demon, no Templar, no darkspawn, and no werewolf would beat her. 

It was at a waterfall when they found more werewolves. It was a group of them this time, flanked by normal wolves. These ones did not attack them, however. One stood at the head of the group, its teeth bared and its hands out. 

“The watchwolves have spoken truly, my brothers and sisters,” it growled, its voice guttural and thick. “The Dalish send more to repay us for our attack—humans, of all things, as well as their own!”

“We aren't Dalish,” Kitranna was quick to point out. 

The werewolf pulled its lips back further from its teeth. “You stink of them—even if you are not their people, you come from them, to put us in our place.”

“You attacked them first,” Kitranna said. 

The werewolf growled. “Is that what they told you?”

Kitranna raised her eyebrows. “I suppose you were peacefully hanging about, and then they decided to attack you for no reason?”

The other werewolves began to growl as well. 

“Go back to the Dalish,” the head wolf snarled. “Tell them that you have failed. We would see them suffer the same curse we have lived under for too long.”

Kitranna's lip curled. She stepped forward, took her staff off her back. “We haven't failed,” she snapped, pointing her staff at them. “We want to get rid of the curse—or don't you want that?”

“You know nothing of us, do you?” the werewolf snorted, and its hands clenched. “Nothing of us, and even less of those you serve!”

“I don't _serve_ anyone,” Kitranna hissed. “And you won't stop me.”

The werewolf sunk into a crouch. “Run from the forest while you can,” it spat. “Run to the Dalish, and tell them they are doomed.”

“It does not have to be this way,” Leliana said. “Surely you cannot want this fighting—is there no way we could speak?”

“The Dalish do not speak with us,” the werewolf said. 

“We're not Dalish,” Leliana said. 

“You cannot undo this curse,” the werewolf said. “And the Dalish wish only our destruction.”

“You attacked them,” Kitranna snapped. “Why wouldn't they?” 

The werewolf shook its head. “You know nothing,” it said. “Go back,” he snarled. “While you are still able. We grant you this—we will not throw ourselves at you like mindless beasts.” he turned to the other werewolves. “Come—we retreat,” it called. “The forest will deal with them as it always has.”

The werewolves left, vanishing into the forest.

“Well,” Alistair said after a minute. “That was bracing.”

“You would think they would want their curse to be cured,” Leliana said, her expression concerned. “Why would they react in such a violent way?”

“It would seem that their conflict with the Dalish is far deeper than we initially thought,” Morrigan said. “Perhaps we ought to speak with the Keeper again.”

“I don't think we have the time for that,” Alistair said.

“We go forward, then,” Kitranna growled, her eye on the spot where the werewolves had gone. 

They pushed forward again, the forest growing darker and stranger around them. At one point, they found a wounded Dalish hunter on the ground.

“We must take him back to his people!” Leliana exclaimed, kneeling down and checking his injuries. “We cannot leave him out here.”

“We need to keep moving,” Kitranna said, shaking her head. 

“No,” Leliana said. “I will go back with him.”

“You shouldn't go alone,” Alistair said. “I'll come with.”

“Are you certain?” Leliana said, glancing at Kitranna.

Kitranna heaved a breath, and glanced down at the hunter. He was deathly pale, his breath shallow. Something in her gut twisted, and she nodded. “If you have to.” she said. 

Leliana took the hunter back the way they had come, leaving Kitranna with Morrigan, Zevran and the dog. 

They were several miles into the woods when they encountered the Sylvanwoods. 

They were walking along the path, when a tree— _unfolded_ itself. Morrigan let out a startled exclamation and they all raised their weapons to the thing. It did not move towards them at first, and they edged around it. It had a rough shape where the head would be if it had been a person, and hollow sockets for eyes. It watched them as they went, but did not attack them. 

They encountered several more Sylvanwoods along the way, one of which did attack them. An enormous elm, it swiped at them with long wooden claws, but fell when Morrigan and Kitranna lit it on fire. Zevran, unfortunately, couldn't do much to it—it hardly reacted when slashed with a blade, even a poisoned one.

They came across a rhyming Sylvanwood, an elderly and rather pleasant tree who asked them to retrieve a possession that belonged to it, an acorn that it prized very greatly. They made no promises, but said they would bring it back if they saw it. 

Leliana and Alistair had still not returned when they encountered Danayla. 

The werewolf was hunched by the side of the path, in pain. It spoke to them when they came across it, but made no move to attack. 

“Please,” it groaned, voice deep and guttural. “Help, listen--”

They raised their weapons, but when the werewolf made no move to attack them, Kitranna cautiously drew closer. “What is it?” she asked. “Why do you need me to listen?”

“I am Dalish,” the werewolf stammered. “Attacked—cursed—the curse inside me, turned me into a beast—the werewolves, they found me, took me in--” the werewolf gave a harsh cry, like a laugh. “Attacked my people, then showed me kindness—but I had to return, I had to--” 

“You were Dalish?” Kitranna said. “Were you part of Clan Leavunlas?”

The werewolf looked up at her, its ears flicking back. “You know my Clan?” 

“Yeah,” Kitranna said. 

“I suppose she was one of the elves bitten in the attack,” Zevran said. 

“The Keeper sent you?” the werewolf asked.

“He did.”

“Then you seek Witherfang.”

“We do,” Kitranna said. “Have you seen him?”

“I have,” the werewolf admitted. “But—it is not what you think. There is no time to explain—you must listen.” the werewolf took a deep breath. “My name is Danayla. My husband, he is called Arthras—take this to him, please--” she held out one long claw, and Kitranna tensed, but saw that in her hand was a scrap of green cloth. 

“Why?” Kitranna asked. 

“Tell him I am dead,” Danayla begged. “With the gods. Tell him...”

“But you are not dead,” Morrigan said. “And we come to end your curse. To kill you would be a needless thing to do.”

Danayla gasped. “I cannot bear it!” she cried. “I cannot bear the pain!” 

Kitranna bit her lip, then slowly she reached out and took Danayla's furred wrist. Her muscles were tense under her skin, thick and tight, her fur dense and rough. “You aren't dead,” she assured the other woman. “We'll help you. We can do better for you and your husband than just—than just telling him you're dead!”

Danayla groaned again. “Please—I beg of you, give me _release_ \--”

Morrigan sighed. “Step aside,” she told Kitranna.

“What are you going to--”

Morrigan moved past Kitranna and put her hand on the side of Danayla's head. The werewolf's eyes slid closed, and she collapsed with a sigh. 

“There,” Morrigan said. “Her pain is ended for the moment, and we can continue on our way.”

“Should we tell her husband about this?” Zevran asked, glancing down at the scarf that she had tried to give them.

“She's not dead,” Kitranna reminded him. “She can tell him about it herself when we end the curse.”

They rolled Danayla onto her side, so her hands wouldn't be trapped underneath her. She was extremely heavy. 

“How long will she be asleep for?” Kitranna asked. “What spell was that? I've never seen a sleeping spell that strong.”

“She will be asleep for quite some time,” Morrigan said. “Flemeth invented that one for me as a child. Sometimes, when I was very small, we would have to move abruptly, and she could not risk that I would make noise. She stopped using the spell once I was old enough to understand her commands.”

“She invented it?” Kitranna said. 

“Yes—it was not difficult. She and I have both invented many such small spells—have you not?” she glanced at Kitranna. 

Kitranna shook her head. “No—they never liked you doing that in the Circle. Always thought it could be dangerous.”

Morrigan tisked. “Most of the spells I have created myself are mere household charms,” she said, shaking her head. “Making it easier to peel potatoes or thread a needle is hardly a threat worthy of the Templars.”

They left Danayla sleeping by the path, and went ahead, further into the forest. Leliana and Alistair finally caught up with them. 

“You brought the hunter back to the Clan?” Kitranna asked.

Leliana nodded. “They were very happy to see him.”

They told the two of their encounters with the rhyming tree and with Danyla. 

“Did the Dalish say anything else about the werewolves?” Kitranna asked. “Anything else we should know?”

“No,” Leliana shook her head.

“Danyla told us that it wasn't what we thought it was,” Kitranna said. “Not sure what she meant by that.”

“She was half delirious with pain,” Morrigan reminded her. “There is no telling how much information was accurate.”

They pressed onward. At some point, they encountered a thick and strange fog which lead them around in circles, and they realized the fog must have been magical. In their attempts to circumvent the fog, they came across an old, half-mad hermit who just so happened to have the rhyming tree's acorn.

“This is ridiculous,” Morrigan commented at that.

“It really is,” Kitranna agreed. “What could he want with that acorn?”

“D'you think we should give the acorn back to the tree?” Alistair said. “I mean...he _did_ steal it, I suppose. As much as you can steal anything from a tree.”

The hermit protested that he did not steal it, and of course there was the fact that it was uncertain what qualified as property as far as trees and hermits were concerned. In the end, Leliana managed to snag the acorn from the hermit, and they returned it to the tree. If nothing else, they didn't really need any particularly angry and old Sylvanwoods running about. Returning the acorn proved to be to their benefit, as the tree gave them an item that it said would help them navigate the fog, which, as it turned out, was indeed magically generated. 

They went through the fog, this time not getting turned around in the slightest. 

The skeletons of stone buildings rose up around them. Although the buildings had been swallowed by the forest, it was clear they had once been vast and covered a great deal of ground. There was a feeling of magic over the place, as if the Veil was thin. 

They ran into another werewolf, perhaps the same one they had met at the falls. It approached them, but made no move to attack.

“The forest has not been vigilant enough,” it said. “Still you come.” it tilted its head to the side, pulled its lips away from its teeth in a snarl. “You are stronger than we anticipated—the Dalish chose well. But this is no longer your territory, elf—leave this place!”

Other werewolves came bounding up behind the lead one, and Kitranna and her group readied their weapons, but the werewolves still made no move to attack. 

“There must be some way this doesn't have to end in bloodshed,” Leliana said

Kitranna snorted. “I don't think so,” she said, and raised her staff. 

“Wait!” Leliana grabbed Kitranna's arm. Kitranna shook her off with a hard glare. “Please,” Leliana implored the werewolves. “There must be some other way!”

“You and the Dalish come only to kill,” the head werewolf snarled. “We have learned this lesson well.”

“We want to end your curse!” Alistair burst out. “Don't you want that, too?”

“You would kill Witherfang,” the werewolf said. “We will not allow that!”

“Your curse causes you such pain,” Leliana urged. “Why do you defend something that causes it?”

“You know nothing,” the werewolf shook its head. “You speak of what you do not understand!”

“Is there some reason you could not explain this to us?” Zevran asked.

The werewolves began to advance, but something came between them and Kitranna's group. 

A great white wolf, larger than any of the other ordinary wolves they had seen thus far, came charging in to separate them. Upon seeing the wolf, the werewolves backed away, turning to go deeper into the forest.

The wolf threw its head back and let out a long howl that made the ears ring and the legs turn wobbly. The wolf made no move to attack them, merely stood in the path for a long moment before turning and following the werewolves. 

“...was that Witherfang?” Alistair posited when the wolf left.

“After it!” Kitranna said, and they bolted after the wolf. 

They could not find the wolf, but instead went deeper into the ruins. The trees receded somewhat and buildings grew up around them. The feeling of magic pressed down heavily on them, prickling like the air before a storm. 

They found themselves inside a mostly intact building. Trees grew inside of it, and the stonework was clearly very old. It was unfamiliar, not seeming Tevinter or Ferelden or even dwarven. It smelled like moss, and animals, and dragonhide. 

“S'pose this is it, then,” Alistair said, pressing a hand to one of the carvings on the walls. “Werewolf city.” 

“It is possible there is a drake nesting here somewhere,” Morrigan said. “We should be careful.”

It was deathly quiet as they made their way inside. They went down a long flight of broad stairs which must have been magnificent when they were first built, and came to an enormous antechamber. There were patterns set into the stone on the ground, a mosaic, and the more one looked the more one realized that the trees did not invade the space, per se, but more complimented and grew around it. 

In the antechamber was the body of an elf, dressed in Dalish hunting leathers. The body was mauled, torn open by enormous claws. Kitranna tightened her grip on her staff.

“They're definitely here,” she muttered. 

They continued onward. There were several doors out of the antechamber, but only one was unlocked. It opened into a set of hallways.

Alongside the hallway were statues of women dressed in long robes, carrying various items. They were all different women, and one could not tell if they were elvhen or human, because their ears were all covered by a hood, or a helmet, or their hair. 

“Why d'you care so much all of a sudden?” Alistair asked Kitranna quietly as they walked.

“What?” Kitranna snapped.

“You were just about ready to give up on the Dalish, leave them behind. Why do you care so much?”

“We need allies, don't we?”

“True, but this is a lot of trouble to go to, isn't it?”

Kitranna grunted. 

“I mean, it's probably not a great idea to leave a lot of werewolves running around,” Alistair said. “But still. Why is it so important now?”

“Because the Circle lied,” she grumbled. “And the Dalish don't deserve this.” she tightened her grip on her staff. “And because I'm not going to back down from a bunch of jumped-up dogs.”

Alistair nodded. “Right. No hostility here at all.”

“Am I supposed to be friendly? To werewolves?” 

“Good point.”

Deeper into the ruins, the smell of dragon grew much stronger. Something growled around a corner.

“I think there's something...big...ahead,” Alistair muttered.

“Oh, who could have guessed that?” Morrigan hissed. 

They continued, more cautiously this time. In the distance, the beast growled so loudly it made the ground under their feet shake.

The drake had holed up in a huge antechamber, surrounded by gold and jewels and other plundered artifacts. There were the skeletons of at least two other adventurers, one of which in Templar armor. 

The drake was a juvenile, luckily, but still large and dangerous. It set Morrigan's robes on fire and Leliana's arrows broke on its hide. 

Alistair charged it and was flung aside. He slammed into a pillar opposite and fell to the ground. Zevran tried to get behind the drake, to avoid its teeth and sharp claws, but had to dodge its wings and long tail and couldn't get close enough to attack it. 

Kitranna growled, frustrated, and she and Morrigan both aimed Winter's Grasp spells at the drake, hoping to immobilize it. 

Leliana and Zevran both came at it with their daggers, as now it moved much slower, although it wasn't immobilized. Kitranna and Morrigan kept it slowed down with their spells and Zevran and Leliana eventually managed to kill it. 

Leliana wiped her forehead, only to get dragon blood on her face. She paid no mind and they went to Alistair. 

Alistair was alive, but his shield arm was clearly broken. 

“Clever of you,” Morrigan said. “To render your only use pointless.”

Alistair, for his part, could only roll his eyes. He was so pale he was almost gray, and his breathing was fast and shallow. 

Morrigan sighed heavily and started making a makeshift splint. “I have no healing spells that would mend a broken bone. What have you?” she asked Kitranna.

“Nothing,” Kitranna said. “We need to keep moving. Should Alistair come with us, or should he go back to the Dalish? Or stay here?”

Leliana looked around. “I do not think it would be a good idea to stay here,” she said. “The werewolves may return, and come across you, should they realize the drake is no longer making sounds.”

“He is hardly in a fit state to continue,” Morrigan said. “He would slow our progress greatly.”

“Thanks,” Alistair muttered.

“I only say what is true.”

“Then he should go back to the Dalish,” Leliana said. “I can take him—I have been back once before.”

“I could go back on my own,” Alistair suggested. “I mean...”

“That would be unwise,” Zevran said. “It is dangerous enough with two working arms.”

“The two of you can go back then,” Kitranna said with a sharp nod, then paused. “Take the dog with you, too," she instructed. "We'll go forward.”

Leliana helped Alistair to his feet. “Will you not wait for me to return?” she said. “You do not know what lies ahead....”

“We can do it,” Kitranna insisted. 

“You're sure?” Alistair asked.

“I'm sure.”

“Alright...” Alistair clapped his good arm on Kitranna's shoulder, and he and Leliana retreated up the steps, the dog on their heels. 

The remaining three of them went down even deeper into the ruins.


	7. Dolorifuge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's time for foreshadowing and an eeensy bit of magic

“How far can this place go?” Zevran asked, looking around at the walls and carved statues. “I have never seen ruins so large.”

“Neither have I,” Kitranna said. “Never even read about any like this.”

The smell of animals grew stronger as they went on, and the carved stone walls gave way to natural caves.

It was in these caves they saw a ghost. 

Kitranna felt the ghost before she saw him—a curious feeling, like something cold had taken her hand. She and Morrigan glanced at each other.

“What was--?”

Up ahead, a white figure shimmered into existence. It was blurry and ill-defined, but had arms and legs and a head, and it spoke something that they couldn't hear. They followed it, and encountered walking corpses. They dispatched the corpses easily enough—they were old, rotten, barely holding together as it was. Morrigan prodded one with the end of her staff.

“It seems as if more than werewolves inhabit this place,” she said quietly.

Kitranna shuddered. “The Veil's damaged,” she said. “Like in the forest, but worse.”

Morrigan nodded. “It would need to be, for this to happen,” she poked the corpse again. She glanced in the direction the ghost had headed. 

“Is there anything we could do about that?” Zevran asked. “I would like to avoid more walking corpses.”

“It is not our duty to exorcise this whole ruin, nor would we be capable of doing so.” Morrigan said. “The damage to the Veil is too extensive to repair at the moment.”

Zevran glanced at Kitranna, who nodded. 

“We'd need a lot of time and probably lyrium,” she said. “Neither of which we exactly have right now.”

They went further into the ruins, and encountered a number of very large spiders, and several more skeletons, and then they met the ghost again.

The ghost was better-formed this time, looking more like a person and less like a wisp of fog. He was in the shape of a young boy, an elf judging by his ears. They approached him cautiously. 

“ _Mamae_?” the ghost cried out, a sob hitching his voice. “ _Mamae na mara san..._ ”

Kitranna tilted her head to one side, and glanced at Morrigan. 

“We need to get by,” Kitranna said, speaking up so the ghost could hear her, if it was inclined to listen. “Would you please let us past?”

“ _Mamae!_ ” the ghost called out plaintively. He didn't seem to see them. “ _Mamae_!”

“Is there something we can do about this?” Zevran asked with a huff. 

“He's not dangerous,” Kitranna said.

“Not as of yet.”

The ghost turned and bolted, his shape fading out into mist again, and more skeletons and corpses rose from the floor.

“Oh, wonderful,” Kitranna growled. They took care of the corpses, and moved on. 

“Are you so sure he was not dangerous now?” Zevran asked. 

“I don't think he caused that,” Kitranna said. “It happened without him before. It's probably just a side effect.”

“And you are certain of that?”

“You don't like ghosts much, do you?”

“Am I supposed to enjoy their presence?”

“I suppose not,” Kitranna said.

Deeper in the ruins, Kitranna found the stone. 

They'd been searching the rooms, looking for anything useful. Gold, arrows, cloth, weapons—anything they could potentially use. They had uncovered some interesting artifacts that weren't immediately useful, such as a stone tablet with an unfinished set of instructions upon it, or a few books somehow not rotted through, but most things were too old to be worth anything. 

In a room crowded with a tree and rotting bookshelves, she had found a large and elaborate...something on the ground. It looked like a vial for a phylactery, but upon closer inspection, it more resembled a large gemstone. It was red and bright, a veritable beacon of magic.

“What is that?” Morrigan murmured, leaning closer.

Kitranna tilted her head to one side, looking at the thing. She could feel the magic inside it, warm and bright, like a torch. There was the strangest taste in the back of her throat, something spicy and pleasant. 

Without thinking, she reached out and touched the gem. And something touched her back.

Something, some presence, resided inside of the gem. It was startled when it first felt her, throwing images of loneliness and imprisonment at her before it settled and re-oriented itself. 

“What are you?” Kitranna asked it, unsure if she was speaking the words out loud or merely in her mind. 

The spirit in the gem blinked at her, or at least gave the impression of one who had blinked. It was confused. It hadn't really considered that, not for a long time. It knew it had been in its artifact for quite some time—slept, went mad, slept some more. It had been trapped for so long it was difficult to conceive of anything but being trapped. 

Slowly, something came to the surface of the spirit's thoughts. An elf, a mage in gleaming armor, wielding a blade like a staff. 

But that was a very long time ago. 

Kitranna bit her lip. “I'm sorry,” she said, and unbidden, images of the Circle tower flashed to the front of her mind. 

There was a feeling like a sigh from the spirit. It was sorry too. She felt the most curious sensation, as if someone put their hand on her shoulder, but then it was gone.

It wanted to give her something.

“Give me what?”

Knowledge, how to become an Arcane Warrior, like those of old. Ensure she was never trapped again.

“You were an Arcane Warrior, and you were trapped.”

The spirit laughed. Fine, then, that was true. But she should take the knowledge anyway. It was all the spirit had left, after all this time.

Now please, please—a desperate pleading filled Kitranna's mind, and the image of an altar came to the front of her thoughts. She was to put the gem on the altar, and grant the spirit peace. Do that, and it would give her knowledge.

“Are you sure?” Kitranna asked. “Isn't there anything else I could do?” 

There was the oddest feeling, as if someone had pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

No. The altar was the only way. 

She glanced around, trying to see if there was a structure similar to the one that showed in her mind. 

There was. Kitranna walked over to it, and moved to put the gem on top of it. Before she did that, something curled around her hand and in her throat, and her mind burst with sudden knowledge. 

She choked and sputtered, as if coming up for air from under the surface of a lake, and quickly regained control of herself.

“Are you alright?” Morrigan asked. She and Zevran had come up next to Kitranna without her noticing. 

Kitranna's heart hammered and her hand clenched around the gem. She looked down at it, then put it on the altar. There was a flash of clear relief, and then whatever had been in the gem was gone.

“I'm fine,” Kitranna said, and she was. She grinned. Her body fairly hummed with energy, and she twirled her staff in one hand. “I feel better than I ever have.”

“What was that?” Morrigan asked.

“”The gem held—some kind of spirit, or presence, I don't know,” Kitranna said. She fairly bounced on her feet when she walked. “It gave me knowledge—you know what an Arcane Warrior is?”

“Elvhen sorcerers of old,” Morrigan said, following her. “Warriors as well as mages...why?”

“Whatever it was, that gem gave me that knowledge, that...ability,” Kitranna said. She pressed a hand to the side of her head. “It's...hard to pull all of it out and put it together, but that's what happened.”

“Wonderful,” Zevran drawled. “I suppose toying with ancient magical artifacts is a safe practice?”

“Does it matter?” she said. She swung the staff over one way, then the other, struck with the realization that she could do more with it than just cast spells “We'll find out sooner or later.”

She left the room, Morrigan and Zevran hot on her heels.

Zevran leaned in and murmured in Morrigan's ear. “Is she well? Is there a spirit inside her?”

Morrigan shook her head. “Nothing that I can feel.”

Zevran hummed and stared hard at Kitranna, but neither he nor Morrigan saw anything too out of place.

They continued to search the ruins, and eventually came across a large room with an enormous sealed door at one end, more intact than the rest.

In the center of the room, there rested a pool of water, and in the pool, there was a clay jug made of similar material to the stone tablet they had picked up earlier. There was a tense aura of magic about the room, like skin drawn tight over a drum. 

There were instructions inscribed upon the jug, just as there were on the tablet. On a whim, Kitranna followed them, figuring perhaps they would lead her to something useful, like the gem. When she completed the ritual detailed, the large doors that had been sealed shut swung open with a feeling like someone releasing a breath.

They were lead into a large open chamber, inside which resided many coffins. There were corpses also, which climbed up from the ground to battle them. 

There was a raised dais, upon which rested another sarcophagus. Statues surrounded the coffin, all looking inwards as if watching over it. 

Beside the coffin, a spirit paced. This one was not the little boy spirit from earlier, but took the shape of a tall woman in a long gown. 

“ _Viran se lan'aan?_ ” she said upon spotting them. Her voice grew high and distressed. “ _Ir annala for ros...nae! Ga rahn s'dael! Ir emah'la shal!_ ”

Kitranna held her hands out, and Morrigan grabbed Kitranna's arm.

“We are desecrating the spirit's grave,” she hissed in Kitranna's ear. “I do not think it would be wise to engage her at this time.” 

Kitranna nodded. They had larger problems to deal with. They quickly left the room, the spirit's outraged cries ceasing once they got off the dais. 

“How did you know what she was saying?” Kitranna asked Morrigan.

“I know some of high Elvhen, the ancient tongue of Elvhenan,” Morrigan explained.

“How's that?” Kitranna asked.

“Flemeth knows many things,” Morrigan said, her lips pursed. “And she taught many of them to me.”

“Did you know what the Dalish at the camp were saying?” Kitranna wanted to know.

“I caught some words,” Morrigan said. “But the Dalish language is different from the tongue of Elvhenan, and I know but little from it.” 

They continued wandering through the ruins, until they found somewhere where the smell of animals was strong again, and lit by torches. It was clearly inhabited. 

They ran into some werewolves very quickly, and fought them to a standstill. The werewolves stopped on their own, to everyone's surprise. 

One werewolf, who had silver fur and a black muzzle, stood upright and spoke.

“Stop!” it said. “We do not wish any more of our people hurt.”

Kitranna smirked. She raised her staff. “Maybe you should have thought of that a bit sooner.”

“I ask you this now, outsider,” the werewolf growled. “Are you willing to parlay?”

Kitranna laughed. “Are you serious? Why would I do that?”

“The Lady believes the Dalish have not told you everything,” the werewolf said. 

“So?”

“So, she has asked that you be brought to her. To speak.”

“And...I'm still not hearing a reason to do this.”

The werewolf pulled its lips back from its teeth and the other werewolves began to growl. 

“You wish to fight all of us?”

Kitranna sighed heavily. “No, I suppose not.” the Arcane strength still surged through her, energy coursing through her veins, but she didn't think that that would let them win if they fought all of the wolves at once. Zevran and Morrigan both looked exhausted, and Zevran had a nasty gash in one of his shoulders. “Who is the Lady?”

“She is our leader,” the werewolf said. “She who guides and protects us.”

“And you want us to talk to her.”

“We will not chance the Lady coming to harm,” the werewolf said. “But if you wish to parlay in peace, the Lady will protect you.”

“Does she know of Witherfang?” Kitranna demanded. “Where is he?”

“She can tell you of him if you ask, but first you must agree to parlay.”

Kitranna scowled. 

“I grow weary of combat,” Morrigan pointed out. She was out of breath and leaning heavily on her staff. “Perhaps this Lady does have a better way of dealing with this curse.”

“Yes,” Zevran agreed. He'd pressed a hand to the wound on his shoulder, but blood still trickled between his fingers and he was pale and sweating. 

“Alright, alright,” Kitranna held up her hands, and put her staff on her back. “We'll parlay with your Lady.”

“I warn you, before I show you to her,” the werewolf said. “If you break your promise, I will come back from the Fade itself to see you pay!”

“Don't test me,” Kitranna barked. “Let's go talk to your Lady, then.”

The werewolves lead them into a room deep in the ruins, which was dominated by trees. The smell of dogs grew even stronger, and Kitranna grimaced. The room was packed with werewolves, all snarling and glaring at Kitranna and her group. 

In the center of the room was a small woman. At least, she looked like a woman at first. 

Her skin had a green tint to it, and was textured like bark. Vines wound around her arms, her legs, her waist. She did not have proper feet and hands, only appendages made of branches that resembled them. She had long, waist-length black hair that was dull and lifeless and run through with streaks of dark green. 

Her eyes were entirely black, with no white at all. 

Although she was quite short, shorter than Morrigan, she carried a large presence with her. The Fade was twisted and warped around her being. The Veil, already thin in the ruins, was almost completely torn. 

She walked towards them, putting one of her branch-hands on the shoulder of a particularly agitated werewolf. The werewolf calmed, and relaxed.

“I bid you welcome, mortals,” she said. Her voice had a peculiar echoing quality, soft and dreamy. “I am the Lady of the Forest.” 

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” Kitranna said. “We're here to help with the curse?”

The werewolf she had calmed pulled back his teeth and growled “Do not listen to her, Lady! She will betray you!”

“Hush, Swiftrunner,” the Lady said. “Your urge for battle will lead only to the death of those you have been trying to save. Is that what you want?”

Swiftrunner bowed his head. “No, Lady. Anything but that.”

“The time has come to speak with this outsider. To set our rage aside.” she focused her attention back on Kitranna. “I apologize on Swiftrunner's behalf. He struggles with his nature.”

“That's nice,” Kitranna said, eying Switfrunner with a sneer. “The curse. How do we end it?” 

“There are things that Zathrian has not told you,” the Lady said, ignoring Kitranna's brusque tone. 

“Like?”

“It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer. The same curse that Zathrian's own people now suffer.”

Kitranna sucked in a breath and curled her hand into a fist. Morrigan sighed and shook her head. 

“Why would he do that?” Kitranna said, feeling very tired all of a sudden.

“Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest,” the Lady explained. “They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathian was a young man then. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly, and while they were out hunting, the human tribe captured them both.” 

Kitranna's hands clenched into fists. 

It was Swiftrunner who spoke next. “The boy, they tortured and killed. The girl, they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but she discovered she was...with child. She killed herself.”

“Zathrian came to this ruin, and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great wolf. So Witherfang came to be. Witherfang hunted the humans of the tribe. Many were killed, but others were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures.”

“Twisted and savage just as Witherfang himself is,” the Lady said. “They were driven into the forest. When the human tribe left for good, their cursed brethren remained, pitiful, and mindless animals.”

“Until we found you, my Lady,” Swiftrunner said.

Kitranna's head snapped around so she could stare at Swiftrunner. “Were you part of the human's tribe?” she demanded.

“Surely they could not live so long,” Zevran said.

“How'd _Zathrian_ live so long?”

“Zathrian's life is tied to that of the curse,” the Lady explained softly. “But those who are cursed do not share the same fortune. Those of the original tribe died long ago.” 

“That's good. So what's this about Zathrian's life being tied to the curse?”

“His people believe he has rediscovered the immortality of your ancestors,” the Lady said. “Perhaps he has, in a way. But regardless, while the curse exists, so does he.”

“It appears he has certain motives for keeping the curse alive,” Morrigan said, raising her eyebrows.

“I do not know.” the Lady said. “He has denied every entreaty we sent to speak to him over the centuries.”

“So you forced the issue,” Kitranna concluded.

The Lady inclined her head. “We seek only to end the curse,” she said. “The crimes committed against Zathrian's children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those who are long dead. Please, mortal. You must go to him. Bring him here. If he sees this creatures, hears their plight, surely he will cure them.”

“And what if he doesn't?”

The Lady's face twisted. “If he does not, I will ensure that Witherfang is never found. He will never cure his Clan.” she pointed to a door leading out of the room. "Return with Zathrian as soon as you can.”

So, they left. 

They found Zathrian in the main hall of the ruin, where they had come in.

“Ah. And here you are already.” Zathrian said, glancing up at them.

“So are you,” Kitranna said, folding her arms. “I thought we were going to do this on our own?”

“There was no way to tell what would happen once you reached this ruin,” Zathrian said. “So I decided to come myself.”

Kitranna rubbed her forehead. “Alright, so, the spirit downstairs—the Lady of the Forest—she says that unless you cure the curse, she'll hide Witherfang and you'll never cure it.”

Zathrian snorted. “Is that what the spirit calls itself now?”

“That's what she said. I think you may be missing the point a little.”

“You do understand that she actually _is_ Witherfang?” Zathrian said, folding his arms. 

“I figured they were connected, yeah,” Kitranna said. 

“Then you could have killed the spirit when you spoke to her.”

“ _Or_ that wouldn't have worked at all, and I'd just destroy the only chance we had of curing it,” Kitranna said. “Believe you me, I didn't like talking to them, but she did mention some interesting things. Like how your life is connected to that of the curse.” 

“The ritual I used had that side effect, yes,” Zathrian admitted with a slight sigh. 

“Is that why you haven't fixed it yet?” Kitranna asked.

Zathrian began to spark. “No!” he exclaimed. “I would not endanger my Clan simply for—for _long life_ \--”

“Then what, is it for revenge?” 

“The werewolves are the same savages then that they have ever been,” Zathrian said. “They deserve this.”

“But your Clan doesn't.” Kitranna insisted. “Whatever they did—the curse is hurting your Clan, too!”

“I--” Zathrian looked stricken. 

“The humans pretty much deserved what they got,” Kitranna said with a shrug. “But what about the Dalish? The werewolves are attacking them, too--”

“All the more reason to kill the spirit!”

“We don't even know if that will work!” Kitranna burst out. “Look, if we talk to her, then we can at least get a better idea of how the situation works, and she'll have less of a chance to try and hide. And anyway, if I have you backing me up, we have a better chance of killing Witherfang.”

Zathrian tilted his head back, appraising her. “Very well,” he said. “It...has been many centuries now. Let us go and speak to the spirit.”

They lead Zathrian down to the bottom of the ruins, where the Lady and her werewolves resided. Zathrian glanced around at the werewolves, wary, but not surprised. His gaze landed on the Lady, and his expression cooled.

“So here you are, spirit.” 

Swiftrunner charged forward and loomed over Zathrian. “She is the Lady of the Forest!” he snarled. “You will address her properly!”

Zathrian did not so much as flinch. His lip curled in a slight sneer. “I see you've taken a name, spirit,” he said. “And you've given names to your...pets? These beasts who follow you?” 

“It was they that gave me a name, Zathrian,” the Lady said. “And the names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them to find who they are.”

“Who they are has not changed from whom their ancestors were,” Zathrian snapped. “Wild savages and dogs—their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!” 

Kitranna sighed. 

“It is as I warned you, Lady! He will not help us! He is not here to talk!” Swiftrunner burst out. 

“No, I _am_ here to talk,” Zathrian said. “But I am not here to help _you_. I come only to aid my own people.”

“So there is room in your heart for compassion,” the Lady said. “Even if it is only for your own people. Is your retribution not spent?” 

“My retribution is eternal, as is my pain,” Zathrian snapped. “This is justice, no more.”

“But you know that if you do not do this, your own people will not simply be cursed. They will have no recourse for the storm that is coming,” the Lady breathed. 

Zathrian closed his eyes. “No. They will not.”

“Wait...” Kitranna glanced at her companions, who looked just as confused as she felt. “Are you talking about the Blight?”

“The Blight is not the only storm.” the Lady said. 

“You are mages,” Zathrian said. “Have you not felt it yourselves?” he turned back to the spirit. “I am too old to know mercy for you,” he shook his head. “All I see are the faces of my children, my people...and I would protect them.”

“Then do this, creator,” the Lady said. “Surely you have seen your magic fray, as all other magic of this world?” 

Kitranna stepped forward. “What's going on?” she said. “What are you talking about?” 

“The world rots from the inside out,” Zathrian said, turning to Kitranna. “Surely you have felt it—beyond the Blight, the fraying of the Veil...?”

Kitranna opened her mouth, then paused. “I...” she said, the memories of spirits slipping through her head. “I...don't know, I...”

“Speak plainly,” Morrigan said, her expression pinched. 

“Many things have changed since I was young,” Zathrian said quietly, and he turned away from them, focused on the Lady again. “What of you, spirit?” he asked the Lady. “You are bound to the curse just as I am. Surely you do not want to die.”

“You are my maker, Zathrian,” the Lady said. “You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet in all this, I desire nothing more than an end.” she held out her branch-hands. “I beg you, maker, put an end to me. We beg you—show mercy. If not for me, then for your own people.”

“I am an old man,” Zathrian sighed. “Alive long past his time.”

“Then you will do it?”

“I cannot see what comes,” Zathrian said. “But I only know that something terrible is coming. This curse would only hurt my people when they need strength.” he let out a long breath. “Yes, spirit. I think it is time. Let us...let us put an end to it.”

“Wait--” Kitranna started, and Zathrian and the Lady both turned to her.

“Gray Warden,” Zathrian said. “There are things more terrible and more powerful than the corruption of the Blight—you must always keep watch for wolves.”

“What does that _mean_?” Kitranna demanded.

“I could not say what will come,” Zathrian told her. “Only that it is.”

“Something is coming,” the Lady murmured. “There is a light upon the horizon.”

Then Zathrian slammed his staff on the ground, and the room blazed with magic. Kitranna's group was forced back as the Lady burst into orange light, and then was gone. The werewolves themselves turned to light, and then were replaced with several dozen humans. 

Zathrian was on the ground, and as soon as the light and magic had cleared, Kitranna hurried to his side.

He was already dead. 

She clenched her fists. 

“It's...over...” one of the humans said. “She's gone, and—we're human!” Kitranna glanced at him. “I can scarcely believe it!”

Kitranna scowled. “Out,” she snapped. “You're human now, leave.”

“But--”

“Out!” she pointed towards the door. “Stick together on the way out, or the forest will eat you—and that's not figurative. Now _out_!”

The humans hurried away, some casting worried glances over their shoulder at her, but no one questioned her. They were probably too relieved to be human to do anything but leave. She looked down at Zathrian's body and heaved a sigh. “We should take his body back to the Clan,” she said. “I mean—we can't just leave it here, right?”

“They would probably not appreciate that, no,” Zevran said. He glanced around. “Although this is, perhaps, an appropriate place...”

“I wonder what he meant by wolves...” Morrigan mused, walking around his body. 

“I don't know,” Kitranna said. She had an extra cloak that she wrapped Zathrian's body in, and found that it wasn't hard to carry him. Either he was unusually light or the Arcane strength was helping her. “Didn't sound good, though.”

“Do you need assistance?” Zevran asked, gesturing to Zathrian's body in her arms.

Kitranna shook her head. “No, I'm fine,” she said. They began to make their way out of the ruins. “A light on the horizon...” she muttered.

“Is there something important about that phrase?” Morrigan asked.

Kitranna nodded. “In Calenhad, there was this Tevinter statue,” she said. “It could talk, said it had the spirit of a prophet inside it. It said the same thing.”

“Perhaps it is a good sign,” Zevran said. “Sunlight usually is, no?” he paused. “But if it was good, why would either of them have warned us?”

“Wolves are a bad omen in Dalish mythology,” Morrigan said. “Their pantheon of gods includes Fen'harel, the trickster. Zathrian invoking the symbolism is...troubling.”

“Was he a seer, perhaps?” Zevran asked. “I have known a seer or two—none of them spoke plainly, and from what I know of spirits, them even less so.”

“It is possible,” Morrigan said. She frowned, thinking. “Zathrian _was_ able to sense the corruption of the Blight,” she said. “It is possible there were other things he knew as well.”

“We can ask Lanaya when we get back,” Kitranna said. “Maybe she could help clarify.”

“I do not think so,” Morrigan said. “If Zathrian did not know, she will not know either.”

“It could not hurt to ask,” Zevran said. 

They didn't encounter any trouble on the road back to Clan Leanvunlas' camp. They didn't want to be disruptive, so Kitranna and Morrigan waited outside the Clan's boundaries while Zevran went in and fetched Lanaya. 

Lanaya came out, followed by Alistair, who was looking much better than he had when they had last seen him, as someone had bound up his arm. Leliana and the dog came as well, both looking none the worse for wear.

“Let me see him,” Lanaya said, gesturing for the body to be brought to her. “On the ground, here,” she pointed, and Kitranna put the body down.

She uncovered his face, and her lip trembled before she took a deep breath and regained control of herself. She nodded. “Oh, Zathrian...” she murmured. She shook her head. “Thank you for bringing him back to us,” she said. “Did he...die well?”

“He removed the curse,” Kitranna said. She paused. “Did you know that he was the one to place the curse in the first place?”

Lanaya looked at her sharply.

“He put it on the humans that killed his children,” Kitranna clarified. “It just...lasted a really long time.”

Lanaya sighed. “I did not know that,” she said. “But our people are well again. Everyone who is bitten is healing.”

“Did Danyla come back?” Kitranna asked. “She was one of your hunters that got bitten—we found her in the forest--”

Lanaya nodded. “She did.” 

“What are you going to do, now that Zathrian's gone?”

“I will take leadership of the Clan,” Lanaya said. “And since the curse is no longer afflicting our people, we will be able to lend you aid, Gray Wardens.” 

Kitranna nodded. “Good. Thanks.” she paused again. “Zathrian...before he died, he said some...strange things.”

“Strange?”

Kitranna pursed her lips. “He said something about light,” she said. “And wolves.”

Lanaya went a few shades paler. “Ah,” she said.

“Ah?” Morrigan raised her eyebrows. 

“Let us take care of Zathrian,” Lanaya said. “Then I perhaps can lend some explanation.”

Lanaya and several of the Dalish tended to Zathrian's body, while Kitranna, Morrigan and Zevran spoke with Leliana and Alistair. 

“Too bad I missed everything,” Alistair said, gesturing to his broken arm. 

Kitranna pursed her lips, looking at his arm. “Yeah, this could be...really bad,” she admitted. 

Alistair grimaced. “I know. Lanaya put some healing spells on it, but the only spirit healer they had was Zathrian, and...well...”

“How long will it be broken?”

“Lanaya said a couple of months,” he said. 

“Provided we do not meet any ill fate,” Morrigan said. “Alistair will be useless until his arm is healed.”

“We could go to the Circle,” Alistair said. “We need to go anyway, and they have more spirit healers--”

Kitranna felt her stomach drop, but before she could say anything, Lanaya returned.

“You said Zathrian told you strange warnings before he died, yes?” she said.

“Yeah,” Kitranna confirmed.

“You are a mage, of the Circle, and the Wardens—I am surprised you have not encountered ill omens yourself.”

“Well...” Kitranna paused, and glanced at Morrigan. “Spirits have been telling me odd things, lately.”

“Our people speak frequently with spirits,” Lanaya said.

“You do?” Alistair exclaimed. 

“Friendly ones,” Lanaya said. “Helpful ones, not the angry ones of the forest or the spirits of the Fade who lead one astray. Ones who come to us because they are curious, or because their natures are compassionate or helpful.”

“Never knew a spirit to be compassionate,” Alistair said, his eyebrows raised.

“Spirits change depending on the people they are around,” Lanaya said. “Our people do not fear spirits, so they are not something to be feared. The Chantry teaches fear, so they become demons, twisted and angry.”

“Really?” Leliana asked, her voice quiet.

Lanaya nodded. “That is one among many reasons we don't go near human settlements—the closer one gets, the worse the Fade becomes. In any case, aggressive or not, tempting or not, all spirits we have encountered have said the same thing.”

“Something bad is coming,” Kitranna said.

“Exactly.”

“Couldn't that just be the Blight?” Alistair said. “I mean—that's pretty bad. Probably bad enough for spirits, right?”

“They have spoken of the Blight, it's true,” Lanaya said, her expression troubled. “But of other things as well. Something is coming, something other than the Archdemon and the Blight.”

“The Dread Wolf?” Morrigan said, her eyebrows raised, a slight quirk to her lips.

Lanaya glanced at her. “If that is the case, we are all doomed,” she said coolly. 

“Is that what _you_ think is coming?” Kitranna asked.

“I do not know. No one does. All I know is that something _is_ —something about light, and ancient things.”

“How helpful,” Morrigan drawled. “Vague warnings and prophecies—ever so useful.”

“It is always useful to be on one's guard,” Lanaya said. 

“I already am.”

“Then you are prepared for the future, are you not?” she turned back to Kitranna. 

“Zathrian said something about the world rotting,” Kitranna added. “Do you know what that's about?”

Lanaya shook her head, her expression troubled. “He's mentioned it before,” she said. “Places where the Veil has worn down, how magic seems to have changed since he was younger—but he could never explain it in a way that anyone else understood, not even other Keepers. I really don't know.”

Kitranna sighed. “Great. Well...I guess we should get moving, then.”

“Thank you again, for your help.” Lanaya said. “We will spread word to other Clans. When you need us, we will be here.”

The Clan gave them supplies and a way to contact them, and then they were on their way. The path out of the Brecelian was winding and quiet.

“So...” Alistair said. “Where are we going next?”

“We should go to Lake Calenhad,” Leliana said. “Alistair needs to heal his arm...”

“No,” Kitranna snapped. Everyone looked at her. 

“I do not know if you have realized this, but Alistair is the only swordsman we have,” Zevran said, raising his eyebrows. 

Kitranna shook her head. “They'll want to keep us there,” she insisted, gesturing to herself and Morrigan. “They'll heal Alistair up and then the Templars will want us to stay there. You know they will.”

Morrigan snorted. “They may _try_ ,” she said. 

Kitranna curled her hand into a fist. “They'll say Alistair can fight the Blight on his own, they'll send him away and they'll lock us in the dungeons,” she began to breathe faster.

“We're in a Blight,” Alistair said. “The Circle doesn't have any sway over Wardens then.”

“They won't care,” Kitranna hissed. “If Loghain didn't think there was a Blight, why would the Templars? They only let me go because of Duncan anyway—if I go back there, with an apostate, they won't want to let us out again.”

“Where would you have us go?” Leliana asked.

“Orzammar,” Kitranna said. “As far away from them as possible.”

“Orzammar is almost a month away,” Leliana said. “And Calenhad is on the route there—we would be wasting time if we had to double back.”

Kitranna growled to herself. 

“We need a healer,” Leliana insisted. “I am sure the Templars would understand the unique circumstances.”

“You'd be surprised...” Alistair muttered. “But they can't do anything to a Gray Warden, especially not with a Blight on.”

“Can't they?” Kitranna demanded. “Templars can do whatever they want if they say they're hunting a maleficar.”

“The Templars would be foolish to interfere with us,” Morrigan interjected. “I would not allow them to delay our task.”

“And how would you do that?”

“You are an Arcane Warrior, are you not?” Morrigan said. A little smile played about the corners of her mouth. “They know nothing of you, and what you can do, and they know even less of me. They would stand no chance.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because we are far more intelligent and creative than any fool who is afraid of magic,” Morrigan said. 

“And even if your Templars are foolish enough to attempt to inhibit a Warden in her quest, that is nothing that a well-placed dagger cannot cure.” Zevran pointed out with a smirk. 

“I am sure they will understand,” Leliana said again. “They are reasonable people, no? We do the work of the Maker.”

Kitranna crossed her arms and glared at the ground. She bit her lip, glanced at Alistair, eyes lingering on his broken arm. “Fine,” she said. “Fine, we can go to Calenhad.”


	8. Rancid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our heroes make some new friends.
> 
> i changed owain the tranquil's name to owayne because 'owain' is pronounced like 'owen.' you don't ever pronounce owain/owen like o-WANE unless it's spelled really, really weird, which i did, so it's okay now

They were two weeks into their journey when they encountered Fiona. 

They had been going along at a fairly brisk pace, ahead of the Horde, and had encountered little opposition, until they met an elvhen woman with a staff on her back, going the opposite direction. 

She was positively tiny, shorter than Morrigan (who was the shortest of their party), and quite thin under her robes. When they encountered her on the road, they paused and looked at each other.

“Are you...from the Circle?” Alistair blurted out, his gaze lingering on the Circle insignia on her robes. 

The woman gave a sharp jerk of her head. “I have leave to be here, I assure you,” she snapped. She had a heavy Orlesian accent. She peered closely at them, her eyes landing on each of them in turn 

“It is surely not safe to be on the road alone,” Leliana said. 

“I am entirely capable of defending myself, Madame,” the woman said. “I have urgent business in the south, so if you please...”

“You _really_ don't want to go there,” Alistair said quickly.

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Darkspawn,” Kitranna said. “The Horde came up from the Wilds—you heard about Ostagar?”

“Why do you think my task is so urgent?” she snapped. 

“Nothing can be found there,” Morrigan said, leaning back on her heels. “The land is surely poisoned by Blight by now. What can you hope to gain?”

“Nothing that is any of your business,” the woman said. “Is there some particular reason you are waylaying me? Or will you let me be on my way?”

“I merely wish to know why it is that an Orlesian mage has come all this way to go to the ruins of an empty battlefield,” Morrigan said, stepping up.

“Morrigan--” Kitranna grabbed her arm. 

“It is rather unusual, is it not?” Morrigan said. 

“It is also unusual for two apostates and another Orlesian to be wandering the roads, yet you do not see me interrogating you about it,” the elvhen woman snapped, laying a hand on her staff. “There is a Blight about, girl, I have no time for this!”

“Hang on...” Alistair said slowly. “You're not—you're not a Warden, are you?”

They all looked at him.

“Why do you say that?” the elvhen woman demanded. 

“You're alone, a mage, and wanting to get to Ostagar when everyone else wants to get as far away from the place as possible,” Alistair said. He glanced around at his companions. “Duncan told me about an Orlesian Warden he knew, an _elvhen_ one?” he looked down at the woman. He was easily a foot taller than she was. “And there aren't many Orlesian elvhen mages running around Ferelden anyway.”

The woman blinked up at him. “You know Duncan? Of the Wardens, yes? Or a different one?”

“Warden Duncan, yeah, and we _did_ ,” Kitranna said.

“You did? You mean...Duncan is dead?” the woman breathed. 

Alistair looked down at the ground. “Afraid so,” he said. 

The woman heaved a sigh and pushed her hair back from her forehead. “I am Enchanter Fiona,” she said. “Gray Warden in name only. Who are you?”

“Alistair,” said he. “This is--”

“Kitranna Surana,” Kitranna butt in. “We're Wardens too. That's Morrigan and Leliana and Zevran. And this is the dog.” she put a hand on the mabari's head. 

“Alistair?” Fiona breathed, looking up at him. She straightened her back. “The two of you are Wardens? You were at Ostagar?”

“We're the only Warden survivors,” Kitranna said. 

“You are?”

Kitranna and Alistair both nodded.

“All the others were killed when Loghain betrayed the King,” Alistair said, a dark expression in his eyes. 

Fiona began to pace. “I had heard, of course—I thought it was ridiculous, that could not be, Loghain is a loyal man--” she growled to herself in frustration. “I have fought beside him! _Duncan_ fought beside him—what is he doing?”

“We don't know,” Kitranna said. “But we _do_ know that there's a Blight on and we need to stop it.”

Fiona let out a long sigh. “So my dreams were true ones,” she said, closing her eyes. “The Archdemon has risen.”

“Looks that way,” Alistair said. The group got off the road, so they could talk more easily. Fiona explained what she was doing in the south.

“I was going to Ostagar to attempt and salvage...anything,” Fiona said. “Meet up with anyone—the Orlesian Wardens will take long months to get here, and that is not enough time.”

“How did you arrive here so quickly?” Morrigan asked.

“I was already on my way here,” Fiona explained. “No one wanted me to come, but I did so anyway. I could hardly leave Duncan on his own.”

“Why didn't they want you there?” Alistair asked. “Duncan spoke very highly of you.”

Fiona smiled. “I am a bit of an embarrassment,” she admitted. “And a curiosity. But that is not important right now—where are you going? Have you a plan? If this is truly a Blight, we need allies--”

“We already set up an alliance with the Dalish,” Kitranna said. “Well—one Clan, anyway, but they said they'd contact others.”

Fiona raised her eyebrows. “That is good to hear,” she said. “They were not hostile to you?”

“Not really. Why?”

“I do not know much about Ferelden Clans, but the Dalish in Orlais are insular and aggressive, even violent towards outsiders.”

“All Clans are different,” Zevran said. “Some are worse than others—but this Clan was pleasant enough.”

“And where do you plan to go now?” Fiona asked.

“Lake Calenhad,” Alistair said, lifting his broken arm in its sling. “We need to see a healer. Or—I do.”

Fiona pursed her lips. “Let me examine that,” she said. “I am a spirit healer—though a poor one.” 

Alistair went over next to her and leaned down so she could look at his arm. She hissed through her teeth.

“That is a severe break,” she said. “What did you do to it?”

“A drake got me,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his good hand. 

Fiona nodded at the others. “We must go to Calenhad,” she agreed. “I cannot heal this myself—the bone is broken clean through. I can only speed up the healing, and at this rate it will not be healed for at least several weeks.” she touched Alistair's arm, her fingers ghosting over his cast, the white-blue gleam of healing magic flaring for just a moment before vanishing. 

Kitranna bit her lip. “Will the Templars want you to stay there?” she asked. 

Fiona shook her head. “No—I am a Warden. They have no sway over me.”

“What did I say?” Alistair said to Kitranna. “You'll be fine.”

 

Later, away from the others, Fiona told Alistair and Kitranna about the price needed to kill an Archdemon. 

“Only a Gray Warden can kill the Archdemon,” Fiona said quietly. “And the Gray Warden who does that will die.”

Kitranna and Alistair were silent.

“Well,” Kitranna said. “That's great.”

“And here I was hoping for a nice, long, violence-free life,” Alistair sighed. “Can't have everything, I suppose.”

“There has to be a way around it,” Kitranna said. “Right?”

“When would anyone have had the time to develop such a way?” Fiona asked. “There have been few Archdemons in the past.”

“I have no idea.”

“There is your answer, then.” 

Kitranna rubbed her forehead. “There's only three of us,” Kitranna said. “That's only three shots to kill a dragon that big.”

“Two,” Fiona corrected. “One needs to have the Taint to kill an Archdemon. But I am certain that the Orlesian Wardens will come—Blight have lasted quite a long time in the past.”

“I really would have liked to know about this earlier,” Alistair said. He paused. “Well, not _liked_ , exactly...”

“Duncan did not tell you?” Fiona asked.

Alistair shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, he didn't.”

“It would have been good to know that sooner,” Kitranna said. “I don't know why he didn't.”

Fiona sighed. “I could not say,” she admitted. “But Wardens hold many secrets, even from our own.”

Kitranna snorted. “Reminds me of the Circle.”

“A bit, yes, I suppose it might.”

“So...” Alistair said. “I guess we have to make sure that one of us kills the Archdemon.” he pointed to himself and Kitranna.

“How are we supposed to do that?” Kitranna asked. “We don't even know where the thing is.”

“I would concentrate on acquiring our allies first,” Fiona said. “But keep it in mind. With luck, the Orlesian reinforcements will come soon, and we can discuss this with them.” she bit the inside of her cheek.

“Do you think that'll actually happen?” Kitranna asked.

“Truthfully?”

“Yes, truthfully.” Kitranna rolled her eyes. 

“I could not say. The weather between here and there is always a concern, and the Frostbacks themselves, not to mention Loghain's actions...” she sighed. “I do not know.”

“I suppose we'll just have to plan for the worst,” Alistair said, his voice quiet.

Kitranna pursed her lips. “I suppose we will.”

 

Fiona was a fair traveling companion. She was quiet and mostly kept to herself, clearly wary of her new traveling companions. Occasionally she and Leliana would have short talks in Orlesian, as Leliana was quite curious and asked questions, but Fiona kept her side of the conversations short and brusque. 

She may have been a poor spirit healer, but she was an extremely skilled battle mage, more experienced than either Morrigan or Kitranna. Several days after she joined them, she approached Alistair.

“About Duncan...” Fiona said, her voice cautious and halting. “I am...sorry.”

“You don't have to—I know you knew him longer than I did,” Alistair said. “If anyone should be mourning here, it's you.”

Fiona looked up at him. “There's no qualifications for mourning,” she said. “I know that he was...important.”

“He was,” Alistair said quietly. 

Fiona's mouth thinned, and she started to speak, then closed her mouth again. She took a breath. She reached out a hand and put it on Alistair's good shoulder. “Perhaps...when this is all over...” she bit her lip and started again. “When this is over, we could go to Ostagar. Find his body—give him a proper burial.”

He looked down at her. She was smaller than he was by a whole head, her shoulders narrower and everything about her slighter. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we could do that.” 

Fiona smiled, and took her hand off his shoulder. After that, she became less wary around the others, more liable to speak. 

“You are a Crow?” Fiona said to Zevran one day.

“Indeed I am,” Zevran said. 

“And you came here to assassinate the Wardens.”

“That I did.”

“And you failed.”

Zevran smiled. “As you can quite plainly see, that is true.”

Fiona scowled. “It is unlike Loghain to hire assassins.”

Zevran shrugged. “I do not know the man. I could not say.”

“Crows are usually much better at achieving their marks.”

“That is also true, but we are not necessarily equipped to fight two mages at the same time.”

“One would think that the Crows would attempt to train you to fight everything.”

“We are very rarely called to assassinate mages, much less shapeshifting ones like lovely Morrigan.”

Fiona glanced at Morrigan, who glared at both of them over her shoulder. “I am perfectly able to hear you, you understand.” she said.

“I am quite aware of that,” Zevran said with a playful smirk, and Morrigan made a disgusted noise.

“How did you learn to shapeshift?” Fiona asked Morrigan. "I was under the impression that that skill was quite rare."

“It is. My mother taught me.” 

“And how did she learn it?” Fiona moved forward, to walk in step with Morrigan, and Zevran drifted over to Kitranna's side. “Is she Dalish? Avvar? Chasind? Did she invent a spell herself?”

“My mother is her own person,” Morrigan said. “I do not know where she learned it, if she learned it at all.”

“Hm.” Fiona looked up at the sky, her brow furrowed. She drummed her fingertips on her hip. “I should like to meet your mother.”

“No, you would not.” 

“And why might that be?”

“A multitude of reasons, far too numerous to list at the moment.” Morrigan said, and she moved up to walk beside Kitranna, and the conversation was over.

 

Several days away from Calenhad, They encountered a man who said he had a broken control rod for a golem, and handed the rod to them, wanting nothing more to do with it. The golem was housed in a village that was on the road to Calenhad, so they made a stop there. The village had been ravaged by darkspawn, the people all driven away or killed.

“This far north?” Kitranna said, eying one of the bodies of the fallen darkspawn. There were far more human bodies than darkspawn ones. “Already?”

“We're closer to the Frostbacks,” Alistair said. “The Horde will probably come from the south, but some groups come from Deep Roads entrances, and there's a lot of those in the mountains.”

They came upon a large statue standing upon a little hill. It was eight feet tall, a vaguely humanoid figure hewn from rough stone and white crystal.

“I suppose this must be it,” Kitranna said, examining the statue. It smelled strongly of lyrium, alluding to an almost dangerous amount inside of it.

“Do you see any other large statues around?” Alistair said. 

The control rod didn't work on it. They explored a little more of the village and found several remaining villagers in a basement, trapped behind a magical barrier. They rescued the villagers and through a series of rather alarming events involving a demon in the body of a cat and a little girl, they found the way to activate the golem. 

They went back to the statue, Kitranna raised the control rod and said the activation phrase. At first, nothing happened. Then something rippled in the Veil, there was a smell of lyrium and lighting on the air, and the golem began to move.

With several cracks and scrapes, the golem turned its head, then moved its arms, then stood up straight. It looked at them with gleaming white eyes. 

“I knew the day would come when someone would find the control rod,” the golem said, voice dry and rough. “And more mages, I see. Typical.”

“...hey.” Kitranna said. 

The golem looked around. “I stood here on this spot and watched those dreadful villagers scurry about me for...oh, I don't know how long. Many, many years.”

“Oh, you poor dear!” Leliana exclaimed immediately, making everyone glance at her. “That would be really, really boring!”

Alistair raised his eyebrows and looked back at the golem. “And the villagers had no idea they were being watched? Creepy.”

The golem sighed. “And I was just beginning to get used to the quiet, too...tell me, are all the villagers dead?”

“No,” Kitranna said. “No, we saved some. A lot, actually.” she narrowed her eyes. “Is that a problem for you?”

“Familiarity breeds contempt, as they say, and after thirty years of watching them I am _very_ familiar with them.”

“I didn't know golems talked so much,” Kitranna said. “Are they all like that, or just you?”

“How many golems have you ever encountered? Not very many, I would guess.” the golem looked Kitranna up and down. “Well, go on. Out with it. What is its command?”

“...and by 'it,' do you mean me?” Kitranna said. 

“How astute it is,” the golem said with an impressive sneer. 

“I have a name, you know.”

“As do I. I am called Shale.”

“Oh,” Kitranna nodded. “Nice to meet you. I'm Kitranna Surana.”

She ultimately did convince Shale to come with them, and so they gained another party member who was not a mage. 

Shale was a quiet party member, who was extremely helpful when fighting against darkspawn or bandits. Most of the time they kept to themselves and rumbled disapproving comments every so often. Shale and Fiona got along famously.

They came to the little village at the edge of Lake Calenhad when the sun began to set. On the shores of the lake were many ruins, including the beginnings of the enormous, broken bridge that lead to the Tower. The Tower itself loomed on its island in the distance, forbidding and dark. 

“Should we all go?” Kitranna said, looking over her group. “Or would that spook the Templars?” she bit her lip and rubbed her elbows. 

“We have all been together before now,” Leliana said. “I am sure the Templars will not mind—we will not be there for long.”

They approached the tiny dock that held the boat that would take one to the tower. There was a man in Templar armor standing on the end of the dock, and Kitranna's spine straightened. She clenched her fist.

The man looked them all over, his eyes wide.

“You lot aren't looking to go to the Tower, are you?” he said. “Because I have strict orders not to let anyone across!” he eyed Shale with trepidation, and his eyes lingered on the mages' staffs and the knives strapped to Leliana and Zevran's backs. 

“We need to see the Knight Commander,” Kitranna insisted. “It's important.” 

The Templar crossed his arms, and Kitranna had to restrain herself from flinching. 

“Oh, aye? And what business could you possibly have with him?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Fiona said. “Our business is extremely urgent and if you delay us you will not like the consequences.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A statement of fact is not a threat,” Fiona said. “And the simple fact is, our business is urgent enough that Knight Commander Gregoire will be extremely displeased if you have stalled us.”

“You know the Knight Commander?” the Templar's eyes widened a little. 

Fiona inclined her head. “I do.”

“So do I,” Kitranna said. “We don't have time for this. We need to go across _now_.”

“Yes, well--”

“Must this tedious display continue?” Shale spoke up from the back of the group. “I say you should just crush him and have done with it.”

The Templar paled. 

“You are always so quick to jump to the crushing,” Zevran informed Shale, shaking his head. “There are other ways of killing people, you know.”

“Ah, so I suppose _you_ are in some position to give advice on slaughter, now?” Morrigan said. 

“I simply acknowledge there are other methods--”

“Maybe the Knight Commander _should_ see you,” the Templar said, his voice cracking. “I can take you now, if you like.”

“That would be best,” Fiona said. 

The boat almost didn't hold everyone, but they managed. It creaked in a terrifying manner when Shale stepped on, but it was sturdy enough to carry several Templars in full plate, so it held Shale as well. 

The windows of the Tower blazed with light, and there was a strange weightiness and melancholy to the Veil that only increased as they got closer. 

There was no shore. The tower jutted straight from the lake, and the boat simply came to an enormous double door that opened right onto the surface of the lake. There were steps that lead down from the door, under the water, but no one could use those any more. There was a post where one could tie up the boat, and there was an extra boat that bobbed next to the steps, but there was nothing else.

“Alright, here you are,” the Templar said, pushing open the door and letting everyone off the boat. 

The door lead into a small, empty hall, dusty and ill-used and smelling somewhat of mold and lyrium. 

“The Knight Commander doesn't like me,” Kitranna reminded her companions as they situated themselves. “So watch him. He might try something.”

Fiona scowled. “He would be foolish to try,” she said. 

“Indeed he would,” Morrigan gave a grim smile, and followed Kitranna closely. 

They could hear sounds coming from deeper inside the Tower, noises that sounded an awful lot like like spells and fighting.

“I don't like the sound of that...” Alistair muttered. They came to the main hall, where several Templars, including the Knight Commander, were gathered. Others were hurrying about urgently, doing various tasks. 

“I want at least four people stationed at the doors at all times,” Gregoire said. “No one gets out or--” he glanced around, to see Kitranna and her entourage. “Oh, and on top of everything else, you're here too, I suppose.”

Kitranna folded her arms and tilted her chin up. “What's going on?” she demanded.

Gregoire's lip curled as he surveyed Kitranna's group. “The Tower is no longer under our control,” he admitted. “Abominations and demons stalk the Tower's halls--”

“ _What_?” Kitranna burst out. 

“Abominations?” Fiona exclaimed. “More than one?”

“Many,” Gregoire said, shaking his head. “First Jowan, and now this--” he looked at Kitranna. “Don't think I've forgotten _your_ role in Jowan's escape--”

“It seems that the problem at hand is the multiple demons in your Tower,” Morrigan said, raising her eyebrows. “And I was given to believe that Templars were supposed to prevent that kind of thing. What a superb job you are doing.”

“Your sarcasm lends you no credit,” Gregoire snapped. 

“How did this happen?” Kitranna demanded. 

Gregoire sighed. “We don't know,” he said. “We saw only demons, hunting Templars and mages alike.” he looked at the ground. “We could not defeat them, so I ordered my men to retreat.”

“My word, what a _wonderful_ job you brave, strong Templars are doing of protecting people from demons,” Morrigan said with a smirk. 

“Mistress, this is not a laughing matter,” Gregoire hissed. 

“It certainly is not,” Fiona growled.

“I merely bring this up because it would seem that you Templars have locked the mages in the Tower _with_ the demons,” Morrigan said, her tone growing dark. “One could almost say that perhaps this retreat was conveniently orchestrated.”

The hair rose on the back of Kitranna's neck. 

“What are you accusing us of?” Gregoire snarled. 

Morrigan tilted her head up. “Why, nothing, of course,” she said, her tone light. “Only that this...attack...comes at quite an opportune time, does it not? When the Wardens need allies against the Blight, your Tower devolves into chaos. You have so vaunted yourselves as the only means by which to fight demons, it comes as quite a surprise that you are incapable of handling them at such a delicate time.”

Leliana and Zevran glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes. 

“Is that why you are here?” Gregoire demanded of Kitranna, ignoring Morrigan's questioning. “To secure aid against the Blight?”

“It is,” Kitranna said. “It's a real Blight, and we need--”

Gregoire shook his head. “No—even if I were willing to give you the aid you seek, I cannot.”

“We could clear the Tower out for you,” Kitranna insisted. 

“How could you succeed where the Templars could not?” Gregoire wanted to know, scowling.

“Well, for one, you didn't have a golem on your side,” Kitranna pointed out, gesturing to Shale.

Gregoire glanced up at Shale. “That...is a fair point,” he admitted. “But it does not matter. I have sent to Denerim for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment.”

Both Kitranna and Fiona let out shocked gasps.

“You mean to _annul_ Calenhad?” Fiona demanded. 

“We have no choice--”

“Of course you have a choice!” Fiona snapped. “You can choose not to kill an entire tower full of apprentices and civilians! You can do your damned job and eliminate the demons!”

“That is what the Rite is for--”

“We're going in,” Kitranna stepped to Gregoire, getting right in his face. She jabbed him in the chest with the end of her staff. “We are going inside that Tower, we are going to _fix_ the demon problem, and _you_ are going to stay outside and let us work, because apparently you are incapable of doing anything without trying to _kill_ everyone!”

“The mages are probably already dead,” Alistair said quietly. 

“They are _not_ ,” Kitranna hissed, rounding on him. “There are _hundred_ of mages in this Tower—I refuse to believe that they're all dead!”

“It is of no matter,” Gregoire said. “There is no alternative—everything in the Tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again!”

“I don't care what _you_ think!” Kitranna exclaimed, turning back to Gregoire. “Let us inside before I _make_ you!” 

“If I let you through those doors, you cannot come back out again until it is proven to be safe!” Gregoire snapped. “I will only open the doors if the First Enchanter himself stands before me and tells me it is safe!”

“Then we will find the First Enchanter,” Fiona said. “And if not him, we will find another Senior Enchanter.”

“I shall not--”

“You shall do nothing,” Fiona hissed. “You stand in the way of three Gray Wardens, Knight Commander, and our task supersedes yours. You have proven yourself incapable of handling this situation, so we shall do it for you.”

“Maybe you don't care if the mages in here die,” Kitranna snarled, moving forward again. “But I have lived here my entire life—I won't let you kill everyone in this Tower just because you're too incompetent to do your job!”

Gregoire looked incensed for a moment, then he relented. “If that is what you truly desire, then go!” he waved a hand at the door. “On your own head be it, girl—I am sure your arrogance will do you great credit against the Abominations!”

“Anything I have to offer'll be better than what you have,” Kitranna growled, and shoved past him, towards the doors that barred the way into the rest of the Tower. The Templars let them through, then slammed the doors closed behind them. 

“My,” Zevran said in the sudden quiet. “You were not exaggerating about the Knight Commander taking a dislike to you.”

“No,” Kitranna muttered, raising her weapon. “No, I wasn't.” she looked at Morrigan. “Why'd you say that this seems...opportune?”

“I mislike that this disaster happened at such a time,” Morrigan said, her eyes narrowed. “The timing is...peculiar.”

“It does seem to be a rather large coincidence,” Zevran said. “The werewolves of the Brecelian, and now this, and the Blight?”

“I suppose when something goes terribly wrong, everything seems to go wrong at once,” Leliana said. 

“That could be it,” Kitranna said, troubled. “I don't know...it does seem...weird.”

“We can speak of this later,” Fiona said. 

“Right,” Kitranna nodded in agreement, and turned her staff over in her hands. “Now we need to deal with this.”

They walked through the halls, could smell smoke and burning cloth and wood. The Veil was almost torn through in places, and they could smell lyrium and ozone quite strongly. The halls were deathly silent, no mages (or demons) anywhere to be found. Eventually, however, they did open a door and come across several mages being menaced by a Rage demon. 

Three of the mages, a young woman and two children, backed away, while the fourth one faced the demon head on. She raised her staff and slammed it on the ground, a spell collapsing the demon and sending it bursting into a shower of sparks. 

The mage leaned heavily on her staff, before turning to see Kitranna and her group. It was Wynne, the spirit healer from Ostagar.

“You,” she said, looking at Kitranna. “You've returned to the Tower—why did the Templars let you through? I—Fiona?” she looked at Fiona, her eyebrows raised. “Enchanter Fiona? What are you doing here?”

“Helping,” Fiona said.

“You know each other?” Kitranna said. 

“In passing,” Wynne put her staff on her back and wiped sweat from her brow. “The Templars have barred the doors—they would only open them to attack us. Is that what is happening?”

“No,” Kitranna said. “No, not yet. We're here to help.”

“Not yet? What do you mean?”

“Gregoire called for the Right of Annulment.”

Wynne looked down at the ground. “So Gregoire thinks the Circle is beyond hope. He probably thinks we are all dead.” her mouth twisted and she began to pace. “They abandoned us to our fate.”

“Indeed they have,” Morrigan said. “Would you expect them to do anything else?”

Wynne looked over Kitranna's companions, her eyes lingering on Shale and Morrigan for a moment. 

“Do you know if Irving is still alive?” Kitranna asked. 

“If anyone could survive, it would be him,” Wynne said. “But I do not know.”

“We need to get in and try to make the Tower safe,” Kitranna said. “i suppose we can look for him in the meantime.”

Wynne nodded. She pointed to the door leading to the rest of the tower, over which a gleaming barrier spell was placed. “I can take the barrier down, and help you look,” she said. “If you are to do this, you will need a healer.” she eyed Alistair's broken arm, still in a sling. “It seems as if you need one already.”

Alistair flushed. “Ran into a dragon,” he muttered. 

“I am sure if Gregoire sees that we have made the tower safe, he will back down,” Wynne said. “He is not unreasonable.”

“Mm,” Kitranna said. She glanced at the two children, one a human boy, and one with a curious gray sheen to her skin that marked her as possibly having vashothari blood. “Will the children be alright here?”

“Petra and Kinnun can watch them,” Wynne said, gesturing towards the two adult mages. “If we defeat the fiends in the tower, they will be safe.”

“Come on, then,” Kitranna said. Wynne moved forward, towards the Barrier, and dropped it, allowing them to move further into the Tower. When they were all through, Wynne pulled the Barrier up again. 

Morrigan appeared at Kitranna's side. “We are assisting a preachy schoolmistress, I see,” she said.

“One who can heal,” Kitranna reminded her.

Morrigan's lips thinned. “I mislike what this Circles does to its mages—their masters choose death for them, and they do not fight back? A healer can do many things to hurt a Templar, yet she chooses to stay here and guard children.”

“Well, right this second, she's _choosing_ to fight demons with us,” Kitranna pointed out. 

Morrigan glanced at Wynne. “I suppose. Considering the calibre of these Templars, however, it would not be such a great thing to overpower them.”

In spite of herself, Kitranna smirked. “One thing at a time.”

Wynne quickly healed Alistair's arm, reaching over and tapping it sharply, her hand glowing with white light.

He pulled his arm out of the sling and flexed his fingers, staring at it in surprise. “Just like that?”

“Indeed,” Wynne said. “Enchanter Fiona was doing a fine job of healing it slowly—it was halfway mended already. Now you can use that sword and shield.”

Alistair smiled at Wynne and pulled said items off of his back. “Thanks,” he said. “Nice to have some use again.”

“You speak as if you had any use to begin with,” Morrigan muttered.

“Hush,” Fiona snapped. “Thank you, Wynne.” she said. 

“You are quite welcome.”

It was dark, inside the Tower. Kitranna was tense, her muscles as taught as drawn bowstrings, every noise making her bite her lip. 

The Tower was not meant to be this quiet. It was hushed, certainly, but one always knew people were there. Whispers and the feeling of spells being done pervaded the place, the warm feeling of other lives made the cold halls a little more bearable.

Now it was aching and dark and cold, and the Veil felt torn.

They edged into the library, and came face to face with their first abominations. 

There were three of them in the library, prowling around the toppled bookshelves and overturned tables. They were enormous, hulking, easily the size of the werewolves in the Brecelian. 

They had a vaguely humanoid shape, two legs, two arms, and a head, but that was where resemblance ended. 

Their arms and faces were twisted and warped, like meat that had been left too long in the sun. Their faces held very base similarities to one another, but all three had different numbers of eyes and their mouths and noses in the wrong places. They all had mismatched arms, and one even had a vestigial third arm, branching off from its left. 

The breath left Kitranna, and she summoned her Arcane strength, wrapped it around her like a cloak. 

They dispatched the abominations quickly, moving even faster now that Alistair was once again able to lend his strength to them. 

The library smelled of burnt meat and paper, old spells, ozone and snow and rain and lyrium. A Templar corpse lay slumped against a bookshelf, and as they moved forward, they saw the bodies of several more mages and another Templar. 

“Oh--” Wynne let out a breath. 

“Are any of them alive?” Kitranna wanted to know. Her voice cracked on the last word.

Wynne shook her head. “No. None of them.”

They moved through the library to the second floor, the apprentices' dormitories. They found more Abominations and demons, Rage and Despair and even a Desire demon, but no survivors. 

“They can't all be dead,” Kitranna said, gazing down at the body of a mage, an elvhen boy about Kitranna's age. He'd been in some classes with her. He was good at healing. “Not all of them.”

They did find another survivor, but he was not a mage.

Owayne, the Tranquil who minded the stockroom, was still alive. He startled them, speaking when they hadn't realized he was there. 

“Please refrain from going into the stockroom,” he said in his placid voice, and they all spun to stare at him. “It is a mess and I have not been able to get it into a state fit to be seen.”

Morrigan went dead white. 

“Owayne!” Kitranna and Wynne exclaimed at the same time. 

Owayne nodded. “You remember me. I was trying to tidy up, but there was little I could do.”

“Why are you here?” Wynne asked. “Didn't you try to come downstairs?”

“I encountered the barrier,” Owayne explained. “Finding no other way out, I returned to work.”

“You should have said something! I would have opened the door for you!”

“The stockroom is familiar. I prefer to be here.”

“Are you hurt?” Kitranna asked.

“No.”

“Listen, do you know what happened to Irving? Is anyone else alive?”

“I do not know,” Owayne said. “However, Niall and several other mages came here and got the Litany of Adralla.”

“A protection from mind domination?” Fiona said. She glanced around at her fellow mages. “Do you think blood magic might be involved here?”

“There was a blood mage here several months ago,” Wynne said. “Surana—I believe you knew him...”

Kitranna nodded. “Jowan. But he'd never hurt anyone—he escaped, anyway. Do you think there could be others?”

“Niall was in the meeting...” Wynne muttered.

“What meeting?”

“It was just an ordinary administrative meeting,” Wynne said. “But—that was when all the trouble began. I didn't know what happened, in the chaos, but perhaps Niall saw something that I did not.” she shook her head. “Blood magic...I was afraid of this.”

“This is only going to give Gregoire an excuse to Annull the Tower,” Kitranna said. “Come on, we have to keep moving. Owayne—keep safe, alright?”

Owayne nodded. “Goodbye,” he said, tone of voice still bland, incongruous considering the situation.

“Who was that?” Zevran asked when they were out of earshot.

“A Tranquil,” Morrigan's lip curled. “A mage who has had his magic severed from him and his mind crippled. He is nothing more than a slave now. It is remarkable he is alive at all.”

“Don't talk about him like that,” Kitranna snapped. “The Tranquil—it's not their fault they're like that.”

“No,” Morrigan agreed. “It is the fault of those frightened by what they cannot control.” she was still pale, her skin almost gray. Despite her sneer, she looked sick, a sheen of sweat on her upper lip. 

“I have encountered some Tranquil before,” Zevran said. “I never spoke with them long enough to hear how they came to be the way they are. They are...unnerving.”

“It is a brutal practice,” Fiona said. “All too often implemented on rebellious and frightened children.” she shook her head. “This is not the place to speak of this, however. We must keep going.”

“We should find Niall,” Wynne said. “The Litany will give us a better chance against blood mages or demons.”

Several halls away, they encountered three more living mages. Kitranna recognized all of them—two senior enchanters, and one mage who had passed her Harrowing only a few years ago. 

They drew their staffs when they saw Kitranna's group approached, but Kitranna held up her hands. 

“Wait!” she said. “We're not demons!” 

“Or Templars,” Alistair added. 

The three mages did not lower their weapons. Blood dripped from the palm of one of them, a redhead woman Kitranna knew as Hannah. 

“Livinia, Fellenaste, Hannah—what are you doing?” Wynne asked. Her eyes followed the drip of blood down Hannah's arm. “You're hurt--”

She stepped forward, and the mages stepped back as one.

“Get back,” Fellenaste hissed, brandishing his staff. “What are you doing here?” he looked at Kitranna. “Aren't you meant to be doing whatever Gray Wardens do?”

“I needed help from the Circle,” Kitranna said. “We're here to help--”

“Send us straight to the Templars, you mean?” Livinia squeaked. Her hands were shaking and her skin, normally golden brown, was ashen. 

“No, of course not--” Kitranna said. “Tell us what happened--”

“We didn't want it to happen like this,” Hannah said. “Uldred said--”

“Uldred?” Wynne's head snapped up. “What does he have to do with this? Is this his doing?”

“We just wanted to be out from under the Chantry,” Hannah said. “I didn't know it would happen like this--!”

“Did Uldred do this?” Wynne stepped forward, her expression dangerous. “Did you _help_ Uldred do this?” 

“Wynne, do not--” Fiona hissed, grabbing Wynne's hand. 

“I want to know what they have done,” Wynne snapped, shaking Fiona off her. 

“Forced the change,” Fellenaste said, still holding his staff up. “Someone had to.”

“Forced what change?” Wynne's skin lit up as she pulled a Barrier spell around herself. “What have you _done_?”

“Enough!” Kitranna snapped, grabbing Wynne's shoulder and pulling her back. “This won't get us anywhere—we still have a tower full of demons to deal with and those damned Templars downstairs!” she looked at the three mages. “What's Uldred doing? What's his plan? Is Irving still alive?”

“We don't know what Uldred wants,” Livinia said. “Not really—he said he wanted to help free us, but now I—I don't know. I don't know if Irving is still alive...”

“Are there blood mages here?” Wynne demanded, still staring at the blood on Hannah's arm. “Has there been blood magic done?”

The mages glanced at each other, not answering, and that was all the answer Wynne needed. Her lip curled. “Nothing is worth using blood magic!” she spat. 

“You _know_ what it's like here!” Hannah exclaimed. “The Templars—always _watching_ —never letting us leave, never leaving us alone--”

“It's the Chantry who forbids blood magic,” Fellenaste said. “But they hardly know a thing about it! They use the phylacteries and then claim all blood magic is evil!”

“It _is_ an evil,” Wynne insisted. “Nothing is worth it, nothing is worth what you have done to this place!” 

“Where is Uldred?” Kitranna asked. “We need to find him.”

“Upstairs,” Livinia said. “He's summoned demons of all kinds, and there's abominations there too—that's why we're here, we were trying to escape--”

“You certainly will not be able to escape now,” Morrigan said. “There are a large number of Templars crowding the lowest level, after their most cowardly retreat.”

Hannah let out a little cry that she stifled with her hands, and Livinia went, if it was possible, even paler. 

“We can deal with it later,” Kitranna insisted. “Right now we have to go find Uldred.”

“This is unwise,” Wynne said. “We cannot simply let them leave with what they have done!”

“Yes, we can,” Kitranna said. “We have bigger problems. You three—stay out of trouble, alright? We'll see if we can—do something about this later.”

The three mages looked at each other, then back at her. 

“We'll—we'll do what we can,” Hannah said, her voice shaking. 

“Good.”

They continued on their way, finding many more demons wandering the halls, and more bodies. Occasionally they found a surviving mage and directed them downstairs, to the rooms that had been cleared out. They found no sign of Uldred or Irving. 

“It appears there are far more survivors here than the Knight Captain anticipated,” Zevran noted after they found a pair of teenage apprentices hiding in a closet and sent them downstairs. “Is it common for Templars to make such errors? If so, that does not bode well for their Order.”

“He was frightened,” Leliana said. “And made the wrong decision.”

“Templars are trained to see everything as a threat first,” Alistair said. “Their focus is more on containment than rescue, if you get my meaning.” 

“Their whole Order is full of idiots,” Kitranna said offhandedly. 

“Surana...” Wynne sighed. 

“What? You can't tell me this is anything but a cockup of monumental proportions!”

“It certainly is,” Zevran said. “Reminds me a bit of some of the more bloody quarrels Antivan nobility get into—and anything like that is certain to have a large amount of idiots and madmen involved.” 

Wynne shook her head. “Blood magic...” she murmured. “Where would they even learn it? I had thought we did not even keep books on blood magic in the Tower.”

“Perhaps they are inventing spells?” Morrigan suggested. “Blood magic involves an infinitely renewable resource—I'm sure there are some aspects to it that are simply intuitive.”

Kitranna, Wynne and Fiona glanced at each other.

“I don't think so,” Wynne said.

“And why is that?” Morrigan asked. 

“The Circles discourage experimentation,” Fiona explained in a weary voice. “It is a hard habit to unlearn. It is more likely that someone smuggled in books and papers on blood magic, and it has been spreading upon word-of-mouth.”

Morrigan made a disapproving tch sound.

They were on the third floor of the tower when they began to encounter the flesh, creeping up the walls. The flesh grew as if it were a vine that had somehow taken root. The smell was like that of a slaughterhouse, thick and heavy and bloody, and the flesh pulsed as if it breathed. 

“What... _is_ this?” Leliana asked with a disgusted twist to her mouth, reaching out with the tip of one blade to prod at a bulbous sac of meat. “Is this blood magic? Or the demons' doing?”

“I have no idea,” Kitranna said. “Don't touch it.”

“Perhaps the demons are attempting to feel more at home,” Morrigan suggested. “First they damage the Veil, then they change the environment to suit their desires.”

Wynne shuddered, and Kitranna clenched her hand around the grip of her staff. 

They continued, encountering more abominations, more demons, and more of the strange, growing flesh. The Veil started to feel torn and worn down, like it had in the heart of the Brecelian ruins. 

Everything was terribly quiet. They found no more survivors, and no more corpses. All they saw was room after room that had been ransacked and destroyed, papers and books and potions flung everywhere. 

Then they turned a corner, and everything slowed down. 

_“Oh, look. Visitors.”_

There was a demon, an abomination so tall it towered over even Shale. It had a twisted, raw face, with only one dark eye visible, the other grown over by flesh. One of its arms was longer than the other, frail and thin, but tipped with long and wicked claws. The shorter arm was heavily muscled, with clever fingers on a delicate hand at the end, and around it wrapped several golden bangles. 

_“I'd entertain you but...so much effort involved.”_ it tilted its lump of a head to one side. Its mouth didn't move when it spoke. 

Kitranna raised her staff, but her arms felt like they were moving through molasses. She looked around, slowly, and saw her companions were having similar trouble. 

_“Aren't you tired of all this violence, old blood?” _the demon said. Its voice burbled like it was speaking from underwater, like there was mud in its throat. _“I know I am.”___

__“Sloth demon,” Morrigan muttered, stifling a yawn. “Do not listen to it...”_ _

___“You should just lay down and forget about all this...”_ the Veil curled about them, like it was a large and sleepy animal, and Kitranna felt her eyelids grow heavy. _“Leave it all behind...”__ _

__Leliana clamped her hands over her ears. “I will not listen to your lies, demon,” she said, her voice heavy with sleep._ _

__“This makes no sense...” even Shale sounded exhausted, and the golem never slept. “I am no...fragile meat creature...”_ _

__“Push back,” Fiona said, her voice woozy and thick. “We need to—push back--!”_ _

___“Why do you fight?”_ the Veil grew warm about them, like sinking into a hot bath. _“You deserve more. You deserve a rest. The world will go on without you...”__ _

__“No--” Kitranna finally managed to raise her staff, but the Veil coiled close to her, and she closed her eyes for only a minute..._ _


	9. Fallaciloquence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that note from irving is straight from the game. dude's an asshole

Kitranna opened her eyes. She was extremely comfortable and sleepy, wrapped in a warm blanket on a very soft bed. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. 

“You're awake!”

She blinked, and looked over to see Jowan at her bedside, looking concerned.

“Yeah...” she mumbled, and sat up. 

“We were all pretty worried,” he said. “Guess even the Archdemon can't keep you down, right?”

She laughed. “S'pose not,” she said. Something itched at her mind. “When did you get here?” she asked, frowning. “The Templars...”

“Got a pardon, remember?” he nudged her shoulder. “Me and Lily both—she's still on her way back from Aeonar, but she'll be here.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would they pardon you?” she shook her head, feeling hazy. “You're a blood mage.”

“Well, I'm you're friend, aren't I? The Templars have to do what you say.”

Kitranna narrowed her eyes. Everything felt very strange. “Right, right...” 

“You're still tired, I'm sure,” Jowan said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I mean, fighting an Archdemon has to be pretty tiring, doesn't it?” 

“Sure...” Kitranna looked at him. “It's just I...”

“What?”

“I don't remember. I don't remember anything but...” she paused.

Jowan leaned forward. “What is it?”

“The Tower,” she breathed. “I...” she blinked, and her thoughts scattered like beads from a broken necklace. 

“You should rest,” Jowan urged. “Everything's fine.”

She felt an immense urge to close her eyes and sleep again, but something whispered in her ear. 

She jolted awake. “Did you hear something?” she asked. 

“No...”

She looked up. Overhead, there was no ceiling, only the bottomless depths of the sky. 

The walls fell away around her. 

Jowan stepped back, shaking his head. “You could be happy here,” he said, his voice warping like a demon's. “You could be at peace—but you insist on— _struggling_ \--” 

His face shifted and he wasn't Jowan anymore, and Kitranna felt for a weapon, the Fade offering her the handle of a long bladed knife the moment she reached for it. “Stop lying,” she snapped, and drove her knife into his chest. 

He spat at her and pulled himself off her blade. When the blade was back in her hand, it turned into a mages' staff with very little difference in weight. She threw a fireball at him, which struck him in the chest, and he burst into a shower of sparks. The world dissolved around her, and the fog cleared from her head. 

She was standing on an island in an endless bank of clouds. The island was strange, made up of earth and twisted trees. There were strange sculptures looming over her, images of people whom she could not recognize and yet somehow looked familiar. 

“Who are you?” 

She turned. A young man in mages' robes stood behind her. He had black hair which brushed the nape of his neck, and his eyes were wide and fearful. 

“Are you a demon? Where did you come from?”

She blinked. She knew his face. “Niall?” 

He narrowed his eyes, then recognition came to him. “Surana—you went to the Wardens...”

“I'm here now.”

“Who would have thought?” he shook his head. “Good job, getting out of that trap.”

“Where are we?” she looked around. “The Fade, right?”

He nodded. 

She rubbed the back of her head. “How do we get out?”

“We don't.”

She looked at him, raising her eyebrows. 

“You can try, surely,” he said. “But there are always obstacles. You will see the path, but not be able to reach it...” he looked down. 

She shook her head. “There's got to be a way,” she insisted.

“This place...” he glanced overhead, at the bottomless sky. “It drains you of everything. Hope, life...”

Feeling herself grow hazy at his words, she snapped her fingers in his face. “Focus,” she said. “We need to get out of here. How can we do it?”

He caught himself, nodded. “I think...the Sloth demon houses several lesser demons on some of the...islands, I suppose you could call them,” he pointed up at the sky, at several faint shapes that floated around their own island. “I've seen them—I can feel them, leeching off of us...if we could reach them, then perhaps we could reach the Sloth demon itself...”

Kitranna nodded. “Right. We just have to figure out how to do that, then...”

“I sincerely hope you are not another demon,” came a familiar voice, and they both turned to see Morrigan walking their way. Her scarf was askew and she looked even more cross than usual.

“I'm not if you're not,” Kitranna said. 

Morrigan folded her arms and scowled at Kitranna. “At _last_ ,” she said. “I have been wandering this...wasteland for some time, being pestered by visions and nonsense...” she shook her head, then glanced at Niall. “Who is this?”

“This is Niall,” Kitranna said. “Niall, this is Morrigan.” 

“The mage who took the Litanny of Adralla?” Morrigan said with a slight frown.

Niall nodded. “Yes, I did that.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I...I don't know,” Niall admitted. “It feels like forever, but I really don't know.”

“Hm,” Morrigan pursed her lips. “Surana, the Sloth demon may be working through him,” she said.

“What?” Kitranna and Niall said at the same time.

“If you have been here for a long time, and you came here before us, there's a reasonable chance that the Sloth demon is feeding off of your mind and soul and working through you to get to us,” Morrigan said. 

“I am not possessed!” Niall exclaimed.

“You do not have to be,” Morrigan said, rolling her eyes. “Do you honestly think that there is no middle ground between being an abomination and not being demon-touched?” 

“So we can't trust him,” Kitranna said. 

“Perhaps so,” Morrigan said. “What has he suggested?”

“That the Sloth demon houses some lesser demons here...” Kitranna waved around at their surroundings. “Wherever 'here' is, and that we should go after them before we go after the Sloth demon.”

Morrigan stared hard at Niall. “I think we should find our companions before we do that,” she said. “If we kill the Sloth demon while they are still trapped in dreams, they may die also.”

Kitranna looked at Niall.

“I—I didn't know that!” Niall said, growing pale. “I swear!”

“Entirely possible,” Morrigan drawled. “I would still not trust him. It is also possible the Sloth demon is feeding off of him as we speak.”

Kitranna nodded. “Right...so, we need to fetch everyone. How are we going to go about doing that?”

“With luck, Fiona and the spirit healer--”

“Wynne.”

“Will manage to free themselves, if they are halfway competent.” she furrowed her brow. “I do not think the golem will find themselves in the Fade.”

“No...” Kitranna said. “Shale was getting affected by Sloth, though, I remember.” 

“'Twould be a most interesting thing, finding a golem in the Fade,” Morrigan said. “But I do not think it likely.” 

“I...” Niall started. “I could..”

Kitranna waved him away. “No, that's alright.”

“You are so sure that _she_ is not a demon?” Niall asked, gesturing in Morrigan's direction.

Morrigan snorted. 

“Pretty sure,” Kitranna said. “And I can take care of myself, either way.”

“Oh...” Niall looked a bit confused. “I suppose I could...just wait here, then.”

“You do that.”

Morrigan and Kitranna walked away from him, then. “How do we get to one of the other islands?” Kitranna asked. 

A door suddenly appeared before them, gleaming with a faint blue light.

“...Oh.”

“The Fade _does_ react to your desires,” Morrigan reminded her. “Even the Fade as shaped by a demon.”

Kitranna opened the door, and they were somewhere else entirely. 

The place they were in looked like the Tower, but hazy and strange and warped. 

“This is different,” Kitranna said, frowning. 

Morrigan nodded, her eyes narrowed. 

“Are we in someone's dream, or is this another trap?” Kitranna asked. 

Morrigan reached out and touched one of the walls. “I see no demons impersonating my mother,” she said. “If it is a trap, it is a different one than the ones I have encountered previously.”

“The demons looked like your mother?” Kitranna asked, curious. 

Morrigan nodded. “It thought it could use motherly love to entrap me,” she curled her lips, disgusted. “I suppose it would have moved on to something else if given enough time.”

“The demon I saw looked like Jowan,” Kitranna said.

“Who?”

“A friend of mine.”

“How obnoxious.” she shook her head. “I cannot stand demons who impersonate others' form instead of taking on their own.”

“I can't say I like them much either.” the room began to move around them, shifting someone, the walls moving and changing. “Is the room...moving?”

“We should continue,” Morrigan said. 

They went to a door that looked half-formed, and out into the hallway beyond. 

“Now...are we looking for anything specifically?” Kitranna asked. “Do you know?”

Morrigan shook her head. “I do not.” she frowned. 

“Fortunate that I do, then, is it not?” they turned and saw Fiona walking towards them, Alistair at her side. Neither of them looked very happy. 

“Enchanter,” Kitranna said with a smile. “Nice to see you.”

“If you are yourself, and not a demon, that is,” Morrigan said. 

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Not much of a difference between _you_ and a demon, is there?” he said with a scowl at Morrigan. 

Kitranna tilted her head to one side. “I don't feel any demons,” she said. She looked at Morrigan. “What about you?” 

Morrigan shook her head. 

“How did you two find each other?” Kitranna asked.

Fiona and Alistair glanced at each other. 

“Fiona...rescued me,” Alistair said, rubbing the back of his head and flushing. “Not a mage and all, you know, I don't know demons...”

Morrigan snorted. “I am pleased that at least the Enchanter has a basic skillset.” she said. 

“What about everyone else?” Kitranna asked. “Zevran, Leliana, Shale..?”

“Would Shale even be in the Fade?” Alistair asked. “I mean...they _are_ a golem...”

“I don't know,” Kitranna said. “We'll just have to look for them like everyone else.” 

“I'm sure Wynne will find us herself,” Fiona said. “She is a spirit healer, if I recall, she should be able to remove herself from these traps...but...”

“But what?” 

Fiona pursed her lips. “Nothing. We will find her when we find her—her and the others.”

They found Leliana and Zevran in dreams of their own—not good dreams, but nightmares. Apparently they had both broken out of the pleasant dreams to accidentally become entrenched in nightmares instead. Zevran in a reenactment of some particularly nasty Crow training, Leliana watched over by a vindictive Chantry sister. 

They rescued the both of them. 

“Not the most enjoyable place, this,” Zevran said. His tone was light, but his expression was pinched. 

Kitranna shook her head. 

“Did the demons say anything...strange, to you?” Zevran asked.

“They said lots of strange things,” Kitranna said. “What do you mean?” 

Zevran furrowed his brow. “It is—well, it is a dream,” he said. “But they called me—when I awoke, in the first dream, one of the demons, it called me--” 

“Old blood?” Fiona asked.

“Yes!” Zevran glanced at her. “How did you know?”

“Demons call me that too,” Kitranna said. “I think it's an elf thing.”

“They didn't used to,” Fiona said. “I don't know what's changed. And if they've started doing it to non-mages...”

Zevran held up his hands. “I could not say what it meant,” he said. “Only that it occurred.” 

Wynne had not managed to free herself from her own nightmare. She was trapped inside it, echoes of her dead students calling out to her. Fiona was angry. 

“Get a hold of yourself!” she told the taller woman, grabbing her arms and shaking her. “You need to help us—you cannot stay here to wallow in your grief!”

Wynne tilted her head up, her expression steely. She yanked out of Fiona's hold. “Your disregard for the dead is utterly inappropriate,” she said. 

Morrigan laughed, and Kitranna elbowed her.

“There is no time for this,” Morrigan sneered, folding her arms.

“I absolutely agree,” Fiona said with a scowl. “Wynne,” 

With some cajoling and a large amount of anger, they snapped Wynne out of it and dealt with the demons who accosted her. 

Next was Shale. They hadn't been sure Shale would appear in the Fade at all, being a golem, but they did find them, frozen in place, not accosted by demons. 

After some shouting, Shale cracked and moved and came back to life, to look at them, somewhat confused. 

“I am...here, but not here.” Shale narrowed their eyes, the gleam of them bright in the haziness of the Fade. “Is this a place of magic? I have never seen its like before.”

“It's magic,” Kitranna confirmed. “The Sloth demon must have gotten you, too.” 

“Hmm,” Shale rumbled unhappily. “Let us go and deal with this Sloth demon, then.”

Before they did anything with the Sloth demon, they had to take care of the smaller demons that Sloth hosted. They were less powerful, less dangerous, but still needed to be found and caught. 

They managed—sticking together they found it was much easier to escape any illusions placed upon them. They came across Niall again, and he ended up tagging along with them, growing stronger and less tired in his proximity to them. 

Finally, only Sloth was left, at the center of the dream. 

Sloth had assumed a strange and twisted shape, one that radiated exhaustion from every fiber of its being. 

_“Are you so sure you do not wish to stay here?”_ Sloth asked. _“I tried to make you happy. I gave you peace.”_

“That was not peace,” Wynne said. “You gave us nothing.”

Sloth chuckled. _“Can't you feel what's coming, old blood?”_ it said, directing its attention to Kitranna. _“You and your kin?”_

“What does that mean?” Kitranna asked. “Demons and spirits keep saying things like that—what does it _mean_?”

“ _Can you not tell?_ ” Sloth shook its head. “ _Sad, how very little you observe about your world.”_

“Do not encourage it,” Morrigan said. 

Sloth glanced at Morrigan. “ _Surely_ you _can feel it_ ,” Sloth said. _“Old things, long dead, coming back to life.”_

“I feel no such thing,” Morrigan said. “Quickly, now,” she told her companions. “Let us end this.” 

“Wait,” Kitranna held out a hand, and stepped closer to the demon.

“Don't!” Wynne exclaimed.

“No, I want to know,” Kitranna said, peering at the demon. 

“Demons will say anything,” Morrigan reached out and grabbed Kitranna's arm. “You know this as well as I.”

“I do, but...” Kitranna gritted her teeth. 

“Ignore its lies,” Leliana said. “It seeks only to hurt us.”

Kitranna pursed her lips, and she raised her staff. 

_“A battle it is, then?”_ the Sloth demon sighed, as if disappointed. _“If that is what you wish. You will learn to bow to your betters.”_

The battle was long and grueling, the demon able to take on several different shapes. It looked like an enormous Pride demon one minute, a Revenant the next. Finally, however, with all of them helping, they destroyed it, just as they had destroyed the other demons. 

The world began to crumble around them, everything feeling lighter all of a sudden.

“You destroyed the demon...” 

They all looked to see Niall blinking as if coming out of a daze. He hadn't helped in the battle, instead standing off to one side. He wasn't a combat mage, so it made sense that he wouldn't fight.

“I had not thought it possible...” he said. 

“Of course it's possible,” Kitranna said. “Come on,” she gestured to him. “You can help us get rid of Uldred and save the Tower.”

“I—I can't,” he admitted.

“What?” both Wynne and Kitranna exclaimed at once.

“Your friend was right,” Niall nodded to Morrigan. “The demon was feeding on me in order to fuel itself. It was half in and half out of the Fade, you see.” 

Morrigan nodded. 

“Niall, no,” Wynne said, stepping towards him. “There must be something we can do...”

Niall shook his head. “I'm sorry, Wynne,” he said. “The demon simply took too much from me. For you, this will have been an afternoon's nap. For me, it is as if I had been sleeping for months. I cannot wake from that.”

“What do we do?” Kitranna said. “What were you planning on doing with the Litany?”

“Uldred has been using blood magic,” Niall said. “The Litany can protect you. Take it from my—from my body, use it.” 

“Niall...” Kitranna bit her lip, then reached out and grasped his shoulder. “...bye.”

“Goodbye, Surana,” Niall said quietly. “I wish you all luck.”

“May you find peace at the Maker's side,” Wynne whispered. 

“Thank you,” Niall gave them a tiny smile. “Now go—I am sure your errand cannot wait.”

The world dissolved around them, and everything faded away. 

They woke up on the stone floor of the room that the Sloth demon had been occupying.

“Well,” Zevran said. “That was a thoroughly uncomfortable experience.”

“Very odd,” Shale agreed. 

“The Litany,” Kitranna said, shaking her head, which was still fuzzy with sleep. “Where's Niall--?”

“Here,” Wynne said quietly. She was crouched by Niall's body. She'd closed his eyes. In one hand she had the sheaf of paper with the Litany on it. “I have it.”

“Good,” Kitranna said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Good. We can keep moving, can't we...?” 

“We should keep moving,” Fiona said. 

“We should go to Irving's office,” Wynne said. “Perhaps there will be other spells to aid us there.”

So that was what they did. 

Irving's office was empty. They searched the bookshelves for any magical tomes that might help against blood magic. Kitranna located several of Irving's journals, and flipped through the most recent one to see if she could find anything that might help. 

She did find a reference to blood magic, in some of Irving's private journals. But it wasn't what she had wanted to see. 

_“I followed another apprentice through supposed secret maneuvers today, and exposed her tendency towards blood magic. The environment of the tower is such that certain modes of thought are encouraged, both for good and ill. The students think we toy with them. The truth is far more intricate and directed. Deviant traits must be exposed early, or the whole of the Circle suffers. Uldred has been very helpful in identifying the markers to look for. His skills at misdirection are admirable. I daresay that the apprentices would be shocked at his ability to manipulate them. I must organize a retreat such that the other enchanters can benefit from his skills.”_

Kitranna dropped the book.

“What is it?” Leliana asked. 

Kitranna curled one hand into a fist and covered her mouth with the other, backing away from the table.

“Warden...” Wynne said. 

Kitranna rounded on Wynne. “Did you know?” she demanded. “Know about the—the—?”

“What?”

Kitranna picked up the book she had been reading and thrust it into Wynne's hands. “Look!” she snapped, pointing at the relevant passage. “Look here! Right here! Irving was—he was trying to--”

Wynne's eyes widened as she looked at what Kitranna had given her. “Manipulating the students,” she breathed. “Allowing for blood magic to fester here...”

“What?” Leliana exclaimed. She snatched the journal out of Wynne's hands, and Alistair and Fiona crowded in beside her. “That...that might not mean...” Leliana croaked.

Fiona's face twisted in rage. “This is vile,” she said. 

“It doesn't say exactly that he encouraged blood magic, or taught it or anything,” Alistair said. “Just that he...was...being terrible.”

“How else would so many students have learned blood magic, unless they were allowed to do so?” Wynne demanded. She shook her head. “'Deviant traits must be exposed early...' he endangered everyone with these games, _everyone_!” she rubbed the bridge of her nose and leaned back heavily against the table. “We try everything we can to do good,” she said. “To control our magic, and he—intentionally toys with students, misdirects them--” she shook her head.

“Did you expect anything more?” Morrigan said, looking through another book. “Your masters do not wish to keep mages safe. They wish to keep you afraid, fearing your power, allowing yourselves to be corralled like cattle. This is merely another way to accomplish that aim.”

“No,” Wynne shook her head. “No, you are wrong. They are not like that. This is...this is _wrong_. This is a perversion of all the Circles stand for--”

Morrigan snorted. “Have your fantasies if you wish,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “I would prefer not to.”

They found some other defenses against blood magic, not as strong as the Litany, but still useful. Then they continued on, hoping against hope that Irving was still alive. 

They came to the floor right below the Harrowing chamber, where a curious violet barrier flickered in one corner. Kitranna moved forward, and realized someone was trapped inside it. 

“This trick again? I know what you are...I will stay strong...” a Templar, a young man who looked haggard and wan, glanced up as they approached, then back down. 

“Oh, poor lad,” Wynne said, reaching out a hand to brush the surface of the barrier. “He is exhausted—I've never seen anything like this cage.”

“Are there any demons around?” Kitranna said, looking around. “I can't feel any, but maybe one of them set this here...” she peered at the Templar, and suddenly felt sick. It was Cullen. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, I know you.” 

“You do?” Leliana said. 

“In a manner of speaking,” Kitranna said. “He was one of the Templars at my Harrowing.”

“The Harrowing?” 

“The right of passage by which apprentices become Enchanters,” Fiona explained. She looked at the Templar. “He is awfully young to have been assigned that duty...” she said.

“Wonder what he's doing here?” Kitranna mused. She stepped closer. “Do you know me?” she asked him. 

“Only too well,” he groaned. “They've delved deep into my thoughts...but I will stay strong...”

“Rest easy,” Wynne soothed. “Help is here.”

“There were other Templars here,” Alistair said, noting with a sigh the bodies clad in armor behind Cullen. 

“You broke the others but you will not break me...” Cullen gritted. “Tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have...:

Kitranna went cold.

“My—infatuation—with her, a mage of all things--”

Kitranna's stomach dropped. “I'm not a _thing_ ,” she snarled, slamming a fist against the barrier and making everyone jump. “What is the _matter_ with you?”

“Surana!” Wynne exclaimed. “The boy has been _tortured_ \--”

“I don't care,” she said. “He wanted—he thinks I'm--” she curled her hands into fists. “He would have killed me at my Harrowing if I'd gotten it wrong, and he--” she took a deep breath. “You listen to me,” she snapped, jabbing her finger in Cullen's direction, and he looked up, startled. “You _listen_. I'm not a thing for you to obsess over—you understand? I'm not a vision or a dream or anything else—I'm a _person_.”

Cullen's eyes widened. Apparently the demons had never given him this particular vision before. 

She bared her teeth. “And if you even think about laying a hand on me, I'll break your arm.” she snorted. “How's that for real? Demon wouldn't've pulled that, now would it?”

“I...” Cullen stammered. “I...” 

“Pull yourself together.” Kitranna turned away. “Come on,” she snapped. “We need to move.”

“That was uncalled for,” Wynne hissed in Kitranna's ear.

“I don't care,” Kitranna snapped. “I don't want a Templar thinking he can--” she shuddered. 

“Thinking he has some sort of claim to you,” Morrigan said, glancing at Cullen with a disgusted look on her face.

“There you go.”

“In my experience, Templars need to be told where their authority ends,” Fiona said, her expression more pitying. “I agree. We should move on.”

“You—you have to kill them!” Cullen exclaimed, noting that they were about to move on. “If you are real, then--”

“I do _not_ care what you think,” Kitranna said. 

Wynne and Leliana both cast one last sad look on Cullen, before they headed up the steps to the Harrowing Chamber. 

“Wait!” The Templar called again. “Wait--!”

The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off his cries. 

They came into a scene of horror. 

They were immediately assaulted with the thick stench of rotting meat, the strange fleshy growths almost covering the floor of the Chamber. There were about ten mages bound in the center of the chamber, Irving among them. 

Standing, was Uldred, flanked by several abominations. 

“Ah, look what we have here. I remember you.” he looked upon Kitranna, his eyes fever-bright. “You of the old blood.”

“I--” Kitranna blinked and looked around at her companions. “There—there are other elves here, you know.”

“Yes, of course, but I don't believe in coincidences.” Uldred's abominations circled slowly, and Uldred examined them all as if they were particularly interesting beetles.

“What you have done to this place...” Wynne hissed, shaking her head.

Uldred glanced at her. “Ah, the spirit healer,” his voice dripped with disdain. “So entrenched in your ideas of what is right and wrong that you ignore the world around you. You abandon your potential for some pathetic idea of 'good.'”

“What's the point in all this?” Kitranna demanded. “The Templars are going to come with the Right of Annullment--” several of the bound mages gasped. 

Uldred snorted. “They will be of no trouble,” he said. “A mage is but the larval form of something greater,” he gestured to the abominations at his side. “Your Chantry has them convinced—calls them cursed, _abominations_. But they have only reached their full potential.”

“They have not,” Leliana protested. “You have defiled them, cursed them--!”

“Such a change is very small compared to the change that is coming,” Uldred said. “Surely you can feel it—surely you have dreamed it, heard it in the voices of spirits, demons, dreamers and madmen and darkspawn. The Archdemon wakes, and that is merely the beginning.”

“I'm sick of this,” Kitranna hissed, her face contorting in a snarl. “I'm sick of this weird—prophetic nonsense! What are you _talking_ about?”

“He is mad,” Wynne said. “He speaks nonsense and lies—ignore it. A demon speaks through him!”

“You have barred your mind from the world,” Uldred accused. “Some people can be so stubborn...but it does not matter.”

“It most certainly does not,” Wynne snarled, and she slammed Uldred back with a wave of raw magic, not even thinking to compose a spell. 

The fight broke out in earnest. There were five abominations, including Uldred, who morphed into an enormous horror as soon as he could. The abominations were large, but Uldred was almost the size of an ogre, and he towered over all of them. All the abominations had a resistance to magic, so the non-magical members of the party were invaluable in bringing him down. 

Finally Uldred was defeated, and Irving was alive, as well as several of the other mages that Ulrded had captured. 

“Maker, I'm too old for this,” Irving groaned. 

Wynne grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet. “Come along,” she snapped. “You shall tell the Knight-Captain you are alive, and then you will tell _me_ why you have allowed blood magic to grow in this Circle.”

“Wynne, I--” 

“I do not want to hear it. I do not want to hear any lies, or excuses,” she brought them both to a halt and stared into his face. “You endangered this Circle,” she said. “You have endangered my charges, the other students here, the other Enchanters, with your games and your disregard for the safety of those who live here. It is by _your_ hand this occurred.”

They went downstairs, Wynne almost at a jog, Kitranna, Fiona, Alistair and Leliana staying behind to help the other mages. Zevran and Morrigan looked as if they weren't quite sure what to do with themselves now that the fight was over, so Zevran settled on hovering near Kitranna, whereas Morrigan skulked by the wall. 

They all followed Wynne downstairs, where Gregoire and the Knight-Captain were currently speaking. Gregoire had rescinded the Annulment, seeing Irving alive. Cullen had also made his way downstairs, as apparently his prison had broken when Uldred had died. He avoided Kitranna's gaze. 

“Knight-Captain, First Enchanter,” Kitranna said. “The Wardens need the mages. Do we have your assistance?”

“I do not see how much assistance we can lend,” Irving admitted. “But...we will do what we can.”

“We will lend our aid as well,” Gregoire said. 

“Great. Now--”

“Irving,” Wynne said. “I am leaving with the Wardens.”

“What?' Irving said. “We need--”

“The Wardens need me,” she said. “And I trust that you understand that their quest is an extremely urgent one.” 

“I--” Irving looked at Wynne's stormy face, and he deflated. “If that is what you wish, then you may go.”

After Wynne made sure her charges were safe, they quickly left, no one wanting to stay in the Tower longer than was necessary. For once, they didn't stay in a camp, and instead decided instead to risk the Inn on the shores of Calenhad. At the very least, everyone needed a bath to rinse the smell of rotten meat and dead flesh off of them. 

Alistair found Fiona outside, sitting next to Dog. He had his head in her lap, looking much more like a pampered lapdog than the war hound he was. 

“You like Mabari too?” Alistair said. 

Fiona chuckled. “I would be hard-pressed not to like this one.” 

Alistair sat down on Dog's other side. “You know, Surana still just calls him Dog?”

“I know.” Fiona smiled and shook her head. The pair of them were quiet for a minute. 

“I remember what you said, in the Fade--” Alistair started.

Fiona scowled and looked down. “I was hoping that you would not.”

“What?” Alistair blinked. “Why?”

“It is of no import.” she avoided his eyes. “It does not matter.”

“Of course it matters!” he exclaimed. 

“Do you even recall what I said?” she snapped. “It was the Fade, in the trap of a demon. Can you even truly recall?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me.”

_“That is not your sister,” Fiona insisted. She reached out for Alistair. “Alistair, listen to me--”_

_“What do you mean?” Alistair frowned. “Of course she is.”_

_“Alistair is my little brother,” the thing that looked like Goldanna said. “I'm overjoyed to have him back!” she smiled, and Fiona's lip curled in disgust._

_“She is not,” Fiona said. “Alistair, wake up. We are in the Fade.”_

_He blinked at her, confused. “Nnoo...” he said slowly. “No, I don't think so...”_

_Goldanna peered at Fiona. Her face flickered for a moment, and a hand reached out to grasp Fiona's. She muttered something in Fiona's ear, and Fiona yanked her arm away._

_“Alistair,” Fiona said. “This is not real.”_

_“Enchanter, don't say that,” Alistair said. He reached out, took her shoulder. “Come on—I thought being in the Gray Wardens would make me happy, but it didn't. This does. Maybe it will make you happy too.”_

_Fiona looked up at Alistair.. “She is not your sister, Alistair,” Fiona insisted._

_“How can you say that?”_

_“I know she is not your sister because—because I have no other children!” Fiona burst out._

_Alistair blinked, shook his head. “I—what?”_

_“I have no other children,” Fiona sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose._

_“What does it matter how many children you have?” Alistair looked extremely confused._

_“Because_ you _are the only one I have.”_

_Everything around them came to a standstill._

_“W-what?” Alistair breathed._

_“Don't interfere,” snapped a voice in Fiona's ear, and Alistair jumped._

_“What was that?” he exclaimed, looking around. “Hang on a minute...this...”_

_“This is a dream,” Fiona said, readying a spell. “And around us are quite a lot of demons, so if you would be so kind as to pull yourself together...?”_

_“Yes—yes, of course--”_

_Then they fought the demons—when not behind a smokescreen, the demons were easy enough to dispatch._

_“Enchanter—Fiona,” Alistair said, when the last demon had burst into a shower of sparks and evaporated. “Did you--?”_

_“We need to find the others,” Fiona said, her tone brusque. “Come on.”_

“And then we found Surana and Morrigan,” Alistair finished. “Happy?”

Fiona was quiet. “That is certainly how it happened,” she muttered. “You are correct.”

“Did you mean what you said or not?” Alistair said in a rush. “Are you--?” 

“Yes,” Fiona jerked her head in a nod. “Yes, I am.” 

“Then why--”

“It was safer for you to be in Redcliffe when you were born,” Fiona said sharply, stroking Dog's head and still dodging Alistair's eyes. “Safer for you to be with humans than with me. And the Wardens dislike children.”

“How's that? I haven't heard that.” 

“You would not have. It would never have come up. You know they cannot have children, and some were...” she trailed off. “And in the Circle--” she paused again. “It was better.”

“So...Goldanna isn't my sister, then.”

Fiona shook her head. “Unless—unless Maric had other children, which is possible, but I do not think he would.”

Alistair looked up at the sky. 

“You...did you spend a lot of time, looking for Goldanna?” Fiona asked suddenly.

“A bit, yeah,” Alistair said. “I wanted to know who my mother was, so...well, I didn't know if Goldanna was my sister for sure, but I thought...she seemed like...” he sighed. “I dunno. I guess I just wanted to find any family, really.” 

Fiona finally looked at him, meeting his eyes for just a moment before looking away again. “Well, I am here now. I cannot be anywhere else.”

“That's good,” he assured her. “Unless...you don't have to be with us, if you don't want—”

“No, no, it is not like that,” she said, jerking her head up. “The circumstances—it was not that--” she sighed and looked down at her hands. “I will not leave. I cannot.”

“Oh, well, that's good. Wouldn't want to be around my—around someone who didn't want to be around me,” he tried a weak grin. 

“That is not it at all!” she exclaimed. “I promise I—I did not want to leave you to Eamon, but I--” her voice went quiet. “There was no other choice.”

They sat beside each other for a long moment before Alistair spoke again.

“You know what this means, right?” he elbowed her playfully and she looked around at him, scowling. 

“What?”

“I'm related to an _Orlesian_. And here I thought I was all Ferelden.”

Fiona stared at him, then laughed. 

 

Morrigan found Kitranna paging through one of the spellbooks she had pilfered from Irving's office. She watched her for a long moment. “You are well?” Morrigan asked eventually.

Kitranna looked up. “I'm fine,” she said. “What about you?” 

“I did not appreciate the Sloth demon, but otherwise, yes, I am perfectly well.”

Kitranna frowned. “I didn't like the Sloth demon either,” she said. “Did the things it talked about make you nervous, too?”

“In what way?” Morrigan hesitated, then sat down in the chair across from the bed. 

“It sounded like the kind of thing Zathrian and the Lady said, only without the wolves.”

“That it did.” Morrigan pursed her lips. She shook her head. “Flemeth spoke of omens, before we encountered one another,” she said. “But not even she could know everything.”

Kitranna sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don't know what to do about all this,” she admitted. “I just...I barely know what I'm doing now.”

“You seek to end the Blight. Or was that not made clear to you?”

Kitranna gave her a dirty look. “That's not what I meant.” she leaned her chin on her hands. “I am so tired.” 

“Then perhaps it would do you well to sleep.”

“Can't sleep.”

“What could possibly be preventing you from doing so?”

“Every time I close my eyes I see...” she trailed off. 

“Your brethren from the tower.” Morrigan's voice was quiet.

Kitranna looked away. “...yeah.”

“Do not think on them,” Morrigan advised swiftly. “They are gone, and you are not. You have triumphed over the demons, and achieved your goal. There is no reason to dwell on them.”

“Who will, if I won't?” Kitranna demanded. “They didn't have families—the Templars don't care. Hardly anyone else is left alive.”

“I assume those mages who are left alive will remember them. That is not your burden, it is theirs, for allowing such a thing to occur.”

Kitranna looked down. “Maybe if we'd gotten there sooner—if I hadn't dragged my feet coming here--”

“Perhaps then we may have missed Warden Fiona on the road. Or Clan Leanvunlas would have left, or been devoured by werewolves. Perhaps we ourselves would have been caught up in the demons' initial attack. It does you no good to think on these things. Focus on the goal you have yet to accomplish.” 

Kitranna didn't say anything, and Morrigan sighed. 

“If nothing else, you should rest now, because we must be on our way soon enough,” she said, her tone brusque. She leaned over and closed the book that Kitranna had been looking through. “I am tired. You are tired. Rest would be the best decision.”

Kitranna smiled. “Fine, fine,” she said. “If you're gonna get fussy about it...”

“I do not 'fuss,'” Morrigan said with a frown. “I merely explain the situation.”

Kitranna chuckled. “I said fine,” she waved a hand at Morrigan. She ran a hand over her head and got to her feet. “It'll be nice sleeping in an actual bed instead on the ground for once...”


	10. Jettatura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> our heroes go to redcliffe

The next morning, the Spoiled Princess found their main room crowded with quite a variety of travelers, all attempting to squeeze next to each other over one table. 

“Where are we going next?” Alistair asked. 

Kitranna spread out the map. 

“We could go to Orzammar,” she suggested. 

“We'd have to go through the Frostbacks,” Fiona pointed out. “If we went to Redcliffe, we'd just have to cross Calenhad.”

“And Arl Eamon knows us,” Alistair pointed out. “The dwarves don't.”

“We're going to have to talk to them sooner or later,” Kitranna pointed out.

“Yes, but going to Redcliffe would be faster,” Wynne said quietly. “Whether from Redcliffe or Calenhad, it takes roughly the same amount of time to go to the gates of Orzammar, I believe. And if your errand there would take less time...”

Kitranna nodded. “Then we should go there first.”

“Will the Frostbacks not be more difficult to traverse the longer we wait?" Zevran asked. 

“The roads to the gates of Orzammar are well-traveled,” Fiona said. “The dwarves are adept at keeping the passes open—they need to, in order to continue surface trade. If we were going to Orlais, I'd be worried, but the gates to Orzammar lie on the Ferelden side.” 

“That is true,” Leliana said with a nod. “And considering Loghain's actions, I would say that it is vital we reach Redcliffe as soon as possible, now that we have the allies to stand with us.”

“The Circle and the Templars will both be a great aid to your cause,” Wynne said. “But I agree, I do not think we should wait.”

“So we'll go to Redcliffe,” Kitranna said with a sharp nod. 

They could make their way to Redcliffe by either skirting the coast of Lake Calenhad, which would take a week or more, or take a day and cross the lake on a boat. The only problem with that plan was the size of their party and how heavy Shale was, but after some clever bargaining, they managed to acquire a boat that supported everyone's weight. No one was exactly comfortable, but they managed.

Morrigan came to Kitranna a few hours into their journey, a black book in her hand. She pulled Kitranna to the furthest corner of the little boat, both of them facing away from the others.

“What's this?” Kitranna said, glancing at it.

“I found it in the First Enchanter's office,” Morrigan said, passing the book to her. “It claims to be Flemeth's Grimoire.”

“Your mother's Grimoire?” Kitranna said, looking down at the book.

Morrigan nodded. “Yes, it is hers,” she said. She paused.

“What's the matter?”

“'Tis...not what I expected.”

“What _did_ you expect?”

“A collection of her spells,” Morrigan bit her lip. 

Kitranna frowned. “What's wrong? You look...upset.”

Morrigan gave a sharp laugh. “Upset? Upset is not a sufficient term.” Morrigan sighed and ran a hand over her forehead. “My mother...” she started, paused, and began again. “My mother is very old. You know this, yes?”

“Yeah...?”

“I have learned that she is—much older than you would believe,” Morrigan said. “She has—she has mastered a kind of immortality.”

Kitranna stared at her.

“It is not true immortality,” Morrigan assured her. “But it has kept her alive all these centuries, And she has outlined in great detail how she has achieved it, here, in her book.” she tapped the cover of the book. 

“So how'd she do it?”

Morrigan looked out over the water. “Flemeth has had many daughters over the years,” she said. “There are stories of many witches of the Wilds, out of Chasind legend, yet I had never seen a one. I always wondered why not...and now I know. They are _all_ Flemeth.”

“They're all—the same person? Flemeth, in different shapes?”

Morrigan nodded. “When her body becomes old and wizened, she raises a daughter. And when the time is right, she takes the daughter's body for her own!”

Kitranna was silent, not quite sure what to say. “That's horrible,” she managed. 

“You can imagine how I feel about it.”

Kitranna furrowed her brow. “Why did she send you away if she needs your body?” she asked. 

Morrigan shook her head. “She has plans of her own,” she said. “I could not say what her wishes are, nor do I want to know.”

“So What are we going to do about this?”

Morrigan glanced at her. “'We?'”

Kitranna blinked. “Yeah, _'we'._ ”

Morrigan paused. “Well, there is only one possible response to this. Flemeth needs to die.” her lip curled. “I will not sit idly by like an empty sack waiting to be filled.”

“I'll help,” Kitranna assured her.

“I...did not realize you would take to the idea so quickly.”

“Should I _not_ help?”

Morrigan ducked her head, hiding a smile. “You must return to Flemeth's hut without me,” she said. “If I am there when she is slain, she may take my body, or at least make an attempt.”

Kitranna scratched her neck. “I'm not sure when we could do that,” she said. “That would set us back weeks...the Korcari Wilds aren't close.” she sighed and shook her head. “But it's not like we can just...let her do what she wants, and try to steal your body.” she bit her fingernails. “I'm sure there's a way to do it,” she assured Morrigan. “But we need to talk to the others about it.”

Morrigan nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “The sooner we do this, the sooner my mind will be at ease.”

Kitranna hesitated, then reached out and patted Morrigan's shoulder before snatching her hand away again. “We'll do it,” she said. “Trust me.”

Their boat came to rest on an embankment a little ways off from Redcliffe proper, but they could see it in the distance. They began to make their way towards it, when Alistair pulled Kitranna aside. 

“There's something I need to tell you,” he said.

“What is it?” Kitranna asked slowly. She noticed Fiona eying them, but when their eyes met, Fiona looked away. 

“You know how I was raised by Arl Eamon?”

“Yeah...”

“Well, the reason he did that is--My mother is--” Alistair paused and took a breath. “She was—a—well, I never knew her,” he said quickly. “But my father was King Maric.” 

Kitranna let out a breath. “Oh.”

Alistair raised his eyebrows. “'Oh?'”

“That sounds like something you should've told me sooner.”

“How was I supposed to?” Alistair asked. “Say, 'By the way, I'm the bastard son of King Maric?'”

“Good point,” Kitranna rubbed her face. “Does this make you the heir to the throne?”

“Maker, I hope not,” Alistair grimaced. “No, it was made very clear to me early on that there was no room for me raising rebellions or some other nonsense. If anyone has a claim to the throne, it's Arl Eamon. He's not of royal blood, but he is popular with the people—anyway, that's what I had to tell you.”

“Why?” Kitranna asked. 

“So in case it gets brought up later, you're not surprised,” Alistair said.

“Who'd bring it up?”

Alistair shrugged. “With Cailan dead, and Loghain...well, it might come up. Just so you know.”

“Well...thanks.” Kitranna said, and forged on ahead. Alistair hung back, to stand by Fiona.

“Will Eamon know you?” Alistair muttered to Fiona. 

She shook her head. “Only Duncan and Maric knew,” she said. “Loghain might. Some of the other Wardens know I had a child, but...”

“You never told them.”

“No.”

“And Maric told Eamon that my mother was a servingwoman.”

Fiona nodded.

“A _human_ servingwoman.”

“Better that than an elvhen mage,” Fiona said, her voice suddenly bitter. 

“I don't know,” Alistair said. “I mean, I probably would have gotten sent to the monastery no matter who they thought my mother was.”

Fiona narrowed her eyes. “They sent you to be a Templar, yes?”

“Yeah...” Alistair rubbed the back of his head. “Kind of tasteless, now that I think about it.”

She shook her head. “There are many Templars who are the nonmagical children of mages,” she said with a sigh. “They do not want the children to be with their parents, so they must do something with them.”

“Only the humans or elf-blooded ones, though,” Alistair said, a tinge of bitterness entering his own voice. “Never seen any full-elf or Vashoth-blooded ones. Well, the vashoth-blooded one makes sense—there aren't many of those in the south, are there?”

“Not really,” Fiona said. She reached up and patted Alistair's shoulder for just a second before she retracted her hand. “Come,” she said. “We shouldn't be speaking of these things here.”

They crossed the cliffs that stood over Redcliffe village, to look down over the town. 

“Is that...something smoking?” Zevran asked, narrowing his eyes at it.

“I can't see,” Leliana said. 

“This...doesn't look good,” Alistair muttered. “Something was definitely on fire down there.”

“I hope the Darkspawn have not arrived there already,” Wynne said, biting her lip. 

“Look,” Kitranna pointed. Up the path, there was a man coming to greet them. 

He came closer to them, and they saw he was a blond human man in tattered clothes. One of his sleeves was scorched and he smelled strongly of rot and ashes. “I thought I saw travelers coming down the road, though I could scarcely believe it,” he was out of breath and he braced his hands on his knees, panting. “Have you come to help us?”

“Ah, so something bad _is_ happening,” Zevran nodded as if this confirmed a suspicion he had long held. 

“Of course,” Morrigan sighed and folded her arms. She tugged her hood over her head and looked away, bored. 

“Help you with what?” Kitranna asked.

The man got his breath back and looked over their group, his eyes narrowing as he looked from Shale, to Zevran, to the staffs held by the mages. 

“You...you don't know?” he said, straightening. “Has nobody out there heard?”

“We've been on an errand in the Circle of Magi,” Wynne said quickly. “There is not much news to be had.”

“The Circle!” the man's eyes lit up. “Then—perhaps you could tell us what has been happening!”

“We can't help if you don't explain,” Kitranna said. “We'd heard that Eamon was sick, but that was months ago--”

The man shook his head. “He could be _dead_ for all we know!” he exclaimed, and Alistair went pale. “No one's heard from the castle in days! We're under attack—monsters come out every night, and attack us until dawn.” he closed his eyes. “Everyone's been fighting...and dying.”

“Apparently everyone seems to agree that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing each other,” Morrigan sighed. “Marvelous, really.” Zevran smirked, but Leliana scowled and elbowed Morrigan in the side. Morrigan elbowed her right back, but didn't continue her comments. 

“Monsters?' Alistair said. “Darkspawn?”

The man shook his head. “No—no, these are different,” he brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. “We've no army to defend us, no arl to send for help—so many are dead...”

“But what _is_ it exactly?” Kitranna asked. “If it's not darkspawn--”

“I don't know,” he said. “I'm sorry, nobody does.” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should take you to Bann Teagan,” he said. 

Alistair and Fiona both looked up. “Bann Teagan?” Alistair said. “Arl Eamon's brother? He's here?”

The messenger nodded. “Yes, and he'll want to see you,” he said. “Come with me, I'll take you to him.”

The messenger brought them down the cliffs and into the main town. There was a lingering smell of smoke, and there was at least one building still smoldering. There were makeshift walls around the town, but they had been mostly torn down, and no one had yet repaired them. 

The messenger brought them to the Chantry, which was surrounded by semi-standing fortifications. The Chantry had sustained some damage but fortunately its walls still held. 

Inside was the remains of the village. Old men, women, children—a few younger fighters, but many injured. They were all human, no dwarves, elves, or vashothari among them at all. A lack of any mage staffs indicated there were no Circle mages there, but it was possible there might have been an apostate. If there was, however, they weren't showing themselves. 

Wynne pursed her lips as she looked over the makeshift infirmary.

“If you'll excuse me,” she muttered into Kitranna's ear. “I need to lend some aid to whoever is in charge of overseeing the wounded.” 

Kitranna nodded. “We'll let you know what happens,” she said. Fiona looked momentarily torn, but didn't join Wynne. 

Bann Teagan was a middle-aged human man with dark hair and a beard. He turned to them, a curious expression on his face as he surveyed the group.

“It's...Tomas, yes?” he said, addressing the messenger. “Who are these people with you? It's clear they are not simple travelers.”

“No, my lord,” Tomas shook his head. “They've just arrived, and I thought you would want to see them.”

“Thank you, Tomas,” Teagan focused his attention back on the group. “I am Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, and brother to the Arl.”

“I remember you, Bann Teagan,” Alistair stepped to the forefront of the group (Fiona right at his back). “Though the last time we met, I was a lot younger and...covered in mud...” 

Teagan looked confused for a minute, then his face lit with recognition. “Alistair? You're alive? This is wonderful news!”

“Still alive, yes, though not for long if Teryn Loghain has anything to say about it,” Alistair said, his expression grim. 

“Indeed,” Teagan said. “Loghain would have us believe that all Ferelden Gray Wardens died along with Cailan, among other things.”

Fiona scowled. 

“So, what's been going on here?” Kitranna asked quickly. “We heard about monsters...?”

Teagan glanced at her. “Are you a Warden as well?” he asked. 

“Me, and Fiona too,” Kitranna gestured at the smaller woman. “But us and Alistair are the only three.” She narrowed her eyes. “You don't believe what Loghain has been saying?”

“What, that he pulled his men out in order to save them?” Teagan scoffed. “That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory? Hardly.”

Fiona scowled and shook her head, glaring at the ground. 

“Loghain calls you Wardens traitors, murderers of the king,” Teagan continued. “I don't believe it. It is an act of a desperate man.”

“Right, right—but the monsters?” Kitranna insisted. “That sounds like an issue.”

Teagan began to pace. “The attacks started a few nights ago,” he said. 'Evil...things...surged from the castle. We drove them back but many people perished during the assault.”

“And in all this time, no one's come from the castle to explain what is happening?” Kitranna asked.

Teagan shook his head. “No, they have not. No one patrols the walls of the castle, and no one has responded to any calls. Any messengers we send do not return.”

“It seems that our goal would be the castle, then,” Morrigan said. “Whatever is afflicting these villagers comes from in there.”

Kitranna nodded. “Is there a way to get us to the castle?' she asked. 

“Wait,” Leliana said. “We still do not know what these monsters are, exactly. Are they abominations, demons?”

“Some call them the walking dead,” Teagan explained. “Corpses returned from the grave with a taste for the flesh of the living. Each night they come in greater numbers.”

“Necromancy...” Morrigan muttered. “If there is someone casting a spell—a demon or a mage—then it is vital we find the caster and slay them. Then all of this nonsense will stop, and your villagers will no longer be fighting an endless battle.”

Teagan looked at her. “You know this magic?” he demanded, narrowing his eyes.

“It is not my particular area of study,” Morrigan said, tilting her head up. “But if it is not necromancy you are describing, I have no other answers for you.”

“If we are to go to the castle, we must do it soon,” Zevran said, glancing out the windows. “The sun is setting.”

Teagan pursed his lips. “There is no easy way to the castle by night,” he said after a moment of thought. “I am sorry—if you are to get there, you must help us fight off the attackers until morning.”

Kitranna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Morrigan, do you know any countermeasures for necromancy?” 

“Some...” Morrigan said slowly. “There are some runes that may help—I will cast them upon the doors and windows. At the very least one building shall perhaps stand when this is over.”

Kitranna nodded. “Good. Do that.”

Morrigan's expression tightened and she scowled. “If I must...”

Kitranna looked back at Teagan. “We'll help against the monsters,” she promised. “And then we'll help Arl Eamon, if we can.”

So they worked with Teagan and the villagers to help fortify the town against the coming monsters. They had perhaps an hour till sunset, so they had to work quickly. Alistair, Shale and Fiona helped with the barricades at the edge of town, while Morrigan set to work putting protection runes on the doors and windows of the Chantry. 

Wynne had set herself up in the infirmary. She had also acquired the surprising help of Zevran, who knew a thing or two about poisons. Apparently the wounds inflicted by the monsters were frequently poisonous, and Zevran more often than not knew how to treat those kinds of injuries. Leliana helped to keep the villagers calm and gathered bolts for her crossbow, and Kitranna waited with Teagan at the main gate. 

The sun set, and night fell over the town. Alistair, Shale, Morrigan and Fiona came to join them at the main gate, while Wynne, Leliana and Zevran stayed in the town. 

The sounds came first, sounds of crunching bone and something dragging itself over rock. Everyone tensed. 

Then the things came out of the darkness—a horde of shambling corpses that smelled like rot and death, which swung their weapons aimlessly but did not stop until they were completely destroyed.

Fire helped to destroy them. Morrigan, Kitranna and Fiona were all very helpful in that regard. 

The fight was grueling, the onslaughts only stopping for a few minutes at a time. At one point in the evening, one of the archers was unfortunate enough to get gored with a sword, and when he fell, he rose a few minutes later as another corpse. Kitranna and Morrigan both set fire to him with extreme prejudice. 

Finally, however, after hours and hours of fighting, the dawn began to rise, the sky turning from black to faint gray. The sun rose, bloody and red, and the corpses retreated. 

Kitranna and her group went back to the Chantry, to redress their wounds and consider what to do next. 

Teagan addressed the villagers, then thanked Kitranna and her people for their help.

“Truly the Maker smiled upon us when he sent you here, my good lady,” he told her. 

“Sure,” Kitranna said. “The castle, now? We can't fix your problem until we find the necromancer responsible.” 

“Of course,” Teagan nodded. “We have no time to waste.”

He brought them to the mill that was on one of the cliffs above Redcliffe. 

“There is a secret passage here, in the mill,” Teagan explained. “Accessible only to my family.” 

Kitranna frowned and looked at her companions. “You could have told us this before,” she said. “We could have entered the castle earlier—gotten to the necromancer hours ago!”

“We needed warriors--”

“If we had killed the necromancer, you would not have needed us here,” Fiona snapped. “You have wasted precious time!”

“I'm sorry if I—Maker's breath!” Teagan stared over Kitranna's shoulder, and they all looked around to see a blonde human woman in a long dress hurrying towards them. 

“Teagan!” she exclaimed in a thick Orlesian accent. “Thank the Maker you yet live!”

“Isolde!” Teagan gasped. “How did you—you're alive! What has happened?”

“I do not have much time to explain,” Isolde said. “I slipped away from the castle as soon as I was able, and I must return quickly--”

“Who is this?” Kitranna said, stepping forward. 

The woman looked down her nose at Kitranna, glancing at her and the rest of the group as if only just noticing them for the first time. “Teagan, who is this woman?” 

“You remember me, Lady Isolde, don't you?” Alistair said with a sigh.

Isolde narrowed her eyes at him. “Alistair—of all the...why are _you_ here?”

Fiona scowled, and Teagan explained “They are Gray Wardens, Isolde—I owe them my life.”

Isolde opened her mouth, but Kitranna cut her off. “Speaking of that—we still need to get into the castle,” she said. “You're wasting our time, and we're losing daylight. We need to get inside and deal with that necromancer, _now_.”

“Necromancer?” Isolde exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest.

“There are a very limited number of people who have the ability to make the dead rise again,” Morrigan said, a smirk in her voice. “A necromancer is among them.”

“No—no, you cannot go to the castle!” Isolde said. “I need Teagan to come back with me alone--”

“Lady Isolde, we didn't even know anyone was alive in the castle,” Alistair said. “It would help if we could get an explanation..?”

“I...I do not know what is safe to tell,” Isolde said, wringing her hands. “Teagan—it is Connor—I...you are his uncle, you could reason with him--!”

“Isolde, what are you talking about?” Teagan said. “What could Connor have to do with this?” 

“Something...something the mage unleashed,” Isolde said, a scowl twisting her lips. “So far it allows Eamon, Connor and myself to live. The others were not so fortunate...it killed so many, turned their bodies into walking nightmares...”

“Abomination?” Kitranna suggested, glancing at her companions.

“Or a necromancer masquerading as an abomination,” Morrigan said. “To trick gullible nobles into doing what they wanted.”

“Or a necromancer who is possessed,” Wynne said softly.

“You mentioned a mage,” Kitranna said. “What mage? Was someone from the Circle appointed to your household?”

Isolde wrung her hands again and shook her head. “He is an—infiltrator, I think,” she said. “One of the castle staff. He was poisoning my husband—that is why Eamon fell ill.”

“Eamon was poisoned?” Teagan exclaimed, and Alistair went pale. 

“He claims an agent of Teryn Loghain's hired him,” Isolde said, a twist to her mouth.

“Why did he unleash the thing he did?” Kitranna asked. “How?”

“I do not know the workings of magic!” Isolde exclaimed. “Please, I came here for _help_ \--Teagan, please—I do not have much time! What if it thinks I am betraying it? It could kill Connor!” she let out a sob. 

“Don't,” Kitranna said, putting a hand on Teagan's arm. “This is pretty clearly a trap.”

“How dare you?” Isolde exclaimed, her Orlesian accent coming through even thicker. “I am attempting to save my household and--”

“Isolde, please,” Teagan said. “Warden, I trust Isolde—she would not lead me into a trap.”

“No, no,” Zevran piped up. “This certainly seems like a trap. Weeping woman, a child in danger, stories of demons and magic, a request to come alone? Quite clearly a trap.” 

Isolde turned on Kitranna's group. “This is no trap! I am trying to save my son!”

“Be that as it may, your request is both suspicious and dangerous,” Fiona said, her eyes narrowed. “How is one non-mage supposed to help when you either have a rogue mage or a demon stalking your halls?” 

“I will return with you, Isolde,” Teagan said, speaking over Fiona.

“Oh, Maker bless you!” Isolde said, wringing her hands. 

“Teagan--” Kitranna said.

“I have no illusions of besting this demon alone,” Teagan said. “But you and your companions have proven quite formidable, Warden.”

“Teagan, you _must_ come alone!” Isolde protested. 

“I will,” Teagan promised her. “But I will not go in without a plan. Isolde, we must confer in private for a moment—meet me by the bridge.”

Isolde pursed her lips. “Do not take too long, Teagan,” she said. “Please.” she left, then, and Teagan turned to Kitranna.

“Here's what I propose,” he said. “I go in with Isolde, and you enter the castle using the secret passage.”

“Are you sure this—demon, or whatever it is, won't know where the passage is?” Alistair said.

“Even if it does, us going in is better than Teagan going in alone,” Kitranna said.

Teagan nodded. “My thoughts exactly. You can only take a few people with you,” Teagan said. “I think they would notice if your entire group were to be going through the dungeons.”

Kitranna rubbed her face. “What do we do inside?” she asked. 

“I wish I knew,” Teagan said with a sigh. “I know as little of this evil as Isolde seems to—as mages, you may know more already. If you can get to the gates, you can open them to my men, and perhaps they can aid you. Remember—Eamon is the priority here. If you have to, just get him out of there. Me, Isolde, anyone else—we're expendable. Eamon isn't.” 

“We'll do our best,” Kitranna said.

Teagan handed Kitranna his signet ring, which would open the entrance to the secret passage. 

“Alright,” Kitranna turned to her group. “Who should come with? Morrigan, you know the most about necromancy—come on.”

“I'll come too,” Alistair said firmly. 

“Alistair--” Fiona started, then paused. “Be careful,” she said. 

“I will come as well,” Zevran said. “I probably have more experience sneaking around dark, disgusting places than any of you.” 

“Probably true,” Kitranna agreed. “Alright—the rest of you, go to the gates with Teagan's men. We'll see if we can let you in. Or maybe you should try battering the gates open yourselves—that might be helpful.”

“We'll do what we can,” Fiona said. 

Kitranna, Zevran, Morrigan and Alistair headed into the mill, to find the secret passage. They quickly did so, and headed down the tunnel to the castle. 

They found themselves in a dark, dank dungeon that smelled very strongly of rot and dead flesh. 

They proceeded forward with care, and eventually they came across three more of the corpses that had attacked the village the previous night. Some fire dispatched them easily enough—their bodies were dry and easily flammable, and they had no reinforcements to back them up. 

“Hello? Who's there? Is there anyone alive out there?” came a very familiar voice from one of the cells. 

“Jowan?” Kitranna exclaimed, approaching the cell. 

Inside the cell was indeed Jowan, looking pale and thin, his cheeks sunken, his hair greasy and longer than it had been when Kitranna had seen him last. “Kitranna?” he wrapped a hand around one of the bars. There were tiny cuts all over his knuckles “When did you—how did—you cut your hair.”

“How is that the first thing you notice?” Kitranna demanded. “Zevran, can you get this lock?” 

“Wait,” Alistair said. “Who is this?”

“This is Jowan,” Kitranna said. “He's from the Tower--”

“A mage? Didn't Isolde say it was a mage who poisoned the Arl and unleashed the demon or...whatever it is?”

“I didn't do that!” Jowan exclaimed. “I mean I—well, I _did_ poison Eamon, but--”

“You poisoned Eamon?” Kitranna exclaimed. _“Why?”_

“Teryn Loghain wanted me to—otherwise they'd have turned me in to the Templars!” Jowan said. 

Kitranna nodded. “Ah—that makes sense. Alright, Zevran, let him out.”

“You're seriously going to do that?” Alistair grabbed Zevran's arm, and Zevran frowned and shook him off. 

“Yes—if Surana wishes him to be freed, he'll be freed. What's a bit of poisoning between friends, anyhow?” Zevran went to work on the lock. 

“He just admitted to poisoning the Arl--” Alistair said again. 

“So he wouldn't get caught by the Templars,” Kitranna said, emphasizing her words as if it were obvious. 

“And I didn't summon the demon,” Jowan said. 

“It _is_ a demon, then?” Morrigan said. 

Jowan nodded. “I think so—a nasty one, too. I don't know who summoned it—the only other mage here is Connor, but--”

“Connor? Isolde's son?” Kitranna asked. “He's a mage?”

Zevran finished with the lock and the door to the cell swung open, letting Jowan out. Jowan stumbled a bit, his legs unsteady, and Kitranna caught him and helped him to stand upright.

Jowan nodded. “Yes—she didn't want him to go to the Circle, so Isolde set about looking for apostates to train him.”

“And she found you,” Morrigan said.

Jowan rubbed the back of his head. “She found me.” he looked around at all of them. “How did you get here?” he asked Kitranna. “What happened after I—after I left?” he looked Kitranna up and down. “You're wearing armor—where did you even get armor?” 

“Got recruited into the Wardens,” Kitranna said. “And I got my armor from an armorer, the place where you usually get armor. Oh—this is Zevran, Morrigan, and Alistair, by the way,” she said, gesturing to her companions. 

“How did you get into the castle?”

“Secret passage,” Kitranna said, pointing down the way they had come.

“There's a secret passage?” Jowan exclaimed. “How has no one used that yet? We could all have escaped by now!”

“The Bann said that it was known only to his family,” Morrigan said. “I suppose that meant blood family, and he did not feel inclined to share this secret with anyone else.”

“Oh.” Jowan looked crestfallen. 

“So, what's happened?” Kitranna asked. “Someone summoned something, and the only other mage here is Connor.”

Jowan nodded. “But he can barely cast anything at all—he's only a child, he doesn't know much, let alone summon something that large!" he sighed and closed his yes. "Well--he shouldn't be able to...but he's pretty well-connected to the Fade. I think he's a spirit healer, but I don't know for sure..."

"So did he summon it or not?"

Jowan shrugged helplessly. "Probably, but I really don't know. I've been stuck down here, mostly—I don't know too much of what's been going on. I can feel it, though.”

Kitranna nodded. “The Veil's had a great hole punched in it,” she agreed. 

“There was a weakness in the Veil before the demon was summoned," Jowan said. “I tried to fix it, but I just didn't know how! Blood magic helped a little--”

“Blood magic?” Alistair half-shouted. “He's a _blood mage_ , too?”

Jowan went so pale he turned almost gray. 

“Don't worry about it, Alistair,” Kitranna said. 

“Don't _worry_ about it?”

“How accomplished a blood mage are you?” Morrigan said. “Have you learned much outside of the Circle?”

“Why d'you want to know?” Kitranna asked. 

“Blood magic can be used to cleanse and banish demons,” Morrigan explained. “If applied correctly, that is.”

Jowan shook his head. “I didn't know that,” he said. “I just know some healing and defense—I've been trying to stop using it.”

“Throwing away a tool where it may be most useful,” Morrigan sighed. “One can certainly tell _you_ came from the Circle of Magi.”

Kitranna began to pace. “We have to keep going,” she said. “There's no way Teagan's gonna be able to deal with the demon himself—especially not if it's possessing his nephew.” 

“And we should deal with this before sun sets again, and more of the undead attack the village,” Zevran said.

“Hang on, what about him?” Alistair said, gesturing to Jowan.

“He's coming with us,” Kitranna said. 

“What?”

“He's my friend, and he's coming with us,” Kitranna repeated. “The only thing he did wrong was poison Eamon—and it sounds like Eamon's still alive, so, no harm, no foul.”

“Um—Kitranna--” Jowan started. 

“Hush, I'm defending you.”

“He's a blood mage who poisoned Eamon!” Alistair said. 

“So it is better to imprison or slay him for his choices?” Morrigan said. “You yourself have killed many people—why should he be punished merely for doing what his lord asked him to do?”

“Loghain isn't anyone's lord!”

“As far as the Circles are concerned, he is,” Morrigan said, folding her arms. 

Alistair gestured helplessly. “He's—a—blood mage!”

“We've gone over that,” Kitranna said. “We can argue about it later—right now, we need to deal with that demon.” 

“But we can't--”

“We can and I am,” Kitranna snapped. “He's my friend, and he's coming with us.” 

Alistair rubbed his forehead. “I suppose this...is an unusual situation...” he said, gritting his teeth.

“That's right. Come on.”

They made their way through the dungeons (Kitranna giving Jowan her spare staff so he had something to defend himself with), which were filled with a multitude of walking corpses. The further they got into the castle, the more obvious the damage to the Veil became. 

“There hardly needs to be a demon here,” Morrigan commented at one point. “The Veil is almost in shreds—I would not be surprised if spirits merely started possessing the bodies of the dead by accident.”

“That can happen?” Alistair exclaimed. 

“In places where the Veil is thin or damaged, yes, the dead may rise on their own,” Morrigan said with a long-suffering sigh. “More often there are ghosts, or it is a demon influencing the dead and not them becoming mobile on their own, but yes, it can happen.”

Alistair shuddered. 

“It wasn't so bad in the dungeons,” Jowan said quietly. 'The damage to the Veil, I mean—the dungeons themselves were pretty bad.”

Kitranna glanced at Jowan, his sunken cheeks and eyes, the way his robe was filthy and tattered. He had a cut on his chin and his knuckles were bloody and bruised. “What happened to you?”

“The Arlessa locked me in when they found out I'd poisoned Eamon,” Jowan said. “Then they came storming down here, demanding that I reverse what I'd done—I didn't know what she was talking about, I could feel the Veil get worse but I didn't know what was happening--!” he paused. “We should—we should just keep going,” he said. 

The castle was empty, except for the dead. Any person that had fallen, it seemed, was liable to get up and start walking again, only this time with an insatiable desire for flesh. The damage to the Veil became worse and worse, and among the corpses, there started appearing lights and misty shapes—clear signs of ghosts and spirits. The entire world seemed to grow hazy and unclear, like the Fade had been in the Tower. 

They did come across a few living survivors, in the levels of the castle above the dungeons. They instructed any survivors they found to go down into the dungeons and back to Redcliffe via the secret passage. 

“They shall need to make an entirely new secret passage now,” Zevran remarked, after they sent the third survivor away. 

“As long as the people are out of our way,” Kitranna said.

“And safe,” Alistair added.

“Yeah, that too.”

They decided to open the front gates to the soldiers and the rest of Kitranna's people before trying to take on the demon. They edged around the front hall, where everyone could feel something very strong and very unpleasant lurking, to head out front. 

They had to deal with several walking corpses, but Zevran and Jowan managed to get the gates open while Kitranna, Alistair and Morrigan fought the corpses off. 

Fiona came through first, accompanied by several Redcliffe men and the rest of Kitranna's party. 

“My word,” Wynne muttered, going pale as soon as she set foot onto the castle grounds. “The damage to the Veil here--”

“Very nasty,” Kitranna agreed. “We think the thing's a demon, not a necromancer. The damage is bad enough that there's ghosts and probably other spirits and demons wandering around too, but it's the big one that's the problem.”

“We must deal with it at once,” Fiona said. “Did you encounter Teagan again?”

Kitranna shook her head. “No—we haven't searched the whole of the castle, but there's definitely something bad in the front hall. We wanted to get reinforcements first.”

Fiona nodded. “Let us go then, and quickly.”

In the front hall was where they found Teagan and Isolde. Unfortunately, Connor was there too, and his presence overshadowed everything else. 

The boy looked like a boy—but there was an undeniable _wrongness_ about him. The damage to the Veil clearly originated from him. About his person, the Veil was torn and sundered, as if he brought the Fade into the waking world merely by being there. 

As they approached, Connor said _“So these are our visitors, Mother,”_ Connor's voice was not that of a child. 

Isolde's shoulders were slumped. “Yes, Connor.”

Connor peered at Kitranna, his head tilting to one side. His face was pale and soot-stained, his red hair making his skin look white as paper _“And this is the one who defeated my soldiers,”_ Connor's voice rumbled, as if something were talking underneath him. _“The one who defended my village.”_

“Yes,” Isolde whispered.

_“And now it stares at me,”_ Connor's eyes gleamed in the darkness of the half-lit hall. _“What is it, Mother? I cannot see it. I smell old blood and magic, but I see nothing.”_

“This is—she is an elf,” Isolde said. 

Connor tilted his head back with a smirk. “ _Ahh,_ ” it said. _“I know of elves. There are many elvhen servants here, all smelling like blood and death—but this one stands, breathing and not dying.”_

“I don't really like dying,” Kitranna said. “Not a big fan.” 

“ _Hm,”_ Connor growled. _“I'd change that if I could.”_

“What a charming fellow your son is,” Kitranna told Isolde. 

“Please, don't hurt him,” Isolde said, holding out her hands imploringly.

“No one said anything about that,” Fiona said. 

“M-mother?” Connor spoke up again, only this time the rumbling note was abruptly gone from Connor's voice, and it returned to that of a normal child. “Where am I? What's happening?”

“Oh, thank the Maker!” Isolde took Connor's face in her hands. “Connor, can you hear me?” 

There was a crack, and with a cry, Isolde was flung across the room. One of the Redcliffe soldiers hurried to her side to help her. 

_“Do not presume, fool woman!_ ” Connor snapped. _“You are beginning to bore me!”_

“Well, isn't that something,” Kitranna said over Isolde's horrorstricken sobs, her voice acid. “Demons bore _me_ really quickly.”

“Don't say that!” Isolde cried, getting to her feet. “He is not responsible for what he does!”

“Of course he's not,” Kitranna snapped. “Because he's possessed by a demon.”

“Connor didn't mean to do it!” Isolde said. “It was that mage who summoned it--” she sucked in a gasp, her gaze alighting upon Jowan. “Him!” she screeched, pointing.

“I didn't!” Jowan protested. “I couldn't!” 

_“He didn't,”_ Connor confirmed. _“Filthy blood mage—as if his kind could speak to the likes of me.”_

A rumble went through the soldiers at the mention of blood magic, but Kitranna threw a glare over her shoulder, and no one moved. 

Connor peered at her, curious. _“This elf shall have the audience she seeks,”_ he decided. _“What have you come here for?”_

“I came to get rid of you,” Kitranna said. “I don't really like demons, and I especially don't like them taking advantage of kids.”

_“It was a fair deal!”_

“I don't care how fair the deal was or not, it's not your body, and you don't belong here.”

Connor growled again, and there was a feeling of pressure in the room, as if a storm were gathering. 

_“Of course I belong here,”_ he rumbled. _“Can't you see? Haven't you felt the Veil collapsing? No one tells me what to do, least of all elves who stink of blood!”_

“The only reason the Veil's damaged here is because of you,” Kitranna said, pointing her staff at Connor. 

Connor laughed. _“Blind idiots, all of you!”_ he shouted. They felt the Veil twist around them. _“But you won't order me!”_

Connor bolted, and they were suddenly set upon by the remaining guards of the castle and Teagan himself. It took only a few well-placed sleep spells to dispatch the guards, and a few recitations of the Litany of Adralla to burn off any remaining demon magic. 

Teagan awoke first, pressed a hand to his head. Isolde immediately rushed to his side.

“Teagan, are you alright?” she implored tearfully.

“I'm—much better,” he said, Isolde helping him to his feet. “My mind is my own again.”

“Blessed Andraste,” Isolde shook her head. “I would never have forgiven myself if you had died, after I brought you here...” she turned to Kitranna. “Please—Connor's not responsible for this!”

“That is quite clear,” Wynne assured her calmly. “It is the demon's fault, not his.”

“Foolish child,” Morrigan sighed and shook her head. “It seems he made a deal of some kind with it.”

“He would never!” Isolde exclaimed. “It is that mage's fault!” she pointed at Jowan, who went pale. 

Kitranna shook her head and moved in front of Jowan. “He didn't summon the demon,” she said. 

“I think your son's a spirit healer,” Jowan said, peering over Kitranna's shoulder. “Or—or someone else who has a very strong connection with the Fade—I could never summon a demon that strong, I'm sure he did it on accident--”

“Connor would _never_!” Isolde exclaimed. 

“He would if he did not know any better,” Fiona said. “And it sounds like he didn't.” she glanced at Jowan, who shook his head.

“He only just started showing magic,” Jowan explained. “He hardly knows anything.”

“You certainly didn't help,” Isolde crossed her arms. “Even if you did not summon the demon, you poisoned my husband!”

“He poisoned Eamon?” Teagan exclaimed.

“One thing at a time here,” Kitranna said. “We still have a demon we need to deal with.”

“There must be some way we can save him!” Isolde said. 

“I can help--” Jowan started. 

“ _You? After everything you've done?”_ Isolde exclaimed. 

“Hear him out,” Kitranna said. “It's not like I hear anyone else offering any ideas.” she looked around at her companions. 

Morrigan opened her mouth, but Isolde cut her off. “After everything he did, he should be executed!”

Kitranna drew her staff on Isolde, prompting about half of the soldiers to draw their own swords on her. “Don't you dare,” she hissed. 

“Enough!” Teagan reached out and turned Kitranna's weapon aside. “I won't turn away the mage's help, not yet,” he said. 

“He poisoned Eamon!” Isolde exclaimed.

“Your secrecy made this possible,” Teagan accused. 

“If they learned Connor had magic, they'd take him away!” she said. “I simply wanted to protect Connor!”

“He would only have gone to the Circle, and--”

“Would this be a bad time to mention that the Circle had a problem with demons just a few days ago?” Alistair pointed out. “The Arlessa—well, she's not exactly wrong.”

“The Circle had a demon problem too?” Teagan said, frowning. 

“A bad one,” Kitranna said. “We fixed it, but it was nasty.”

“That's—that's unusual, though, certainly?” 

“One of that scale, yes,” Wynne said, furrowing her brow. “This demon's appearance is most irregular as well.”

“It _is_ a Blight,” Alistair said with a shrug. “Lots of nasty spirits and demons come out during a Blight, surely?” 

“Speculation for another time,” Fiona said. “Jowan, how could you help?”

“Connor isn't fully an abomination, not yet,” Jowan said. “You saw him—his body is the same, his mind is overriding the demon's. He's, well—childish. There's still time for a mage to confront the demon in the Fade, without hurting Connor himself.”

“We need Irving,” Kitranna said. “We need lyrium, and a few mages--”

“We already have the number of mages needed,” Fiona said, gesturing to the mages in their party. “We just need the lyrium.”

“There is...another way,” Jowan said slowly. 

“What is it?” Kitranna asked.

“Blood magic,” Jowan said. “This ritual would require a lot of one person's life energy—all of someone's life energy, as a matter of fact.”

Morrigan snorted. “Would that we had a blood mage who knew more than the barest minimum of their craft,” she said with a sigh.

“Well, that one's right out,” Kitranna said. “The Circle's just across the lake, and Irving owes us a favor. We could get out there and be back in a few hours.” 

“Are you sure?” Teagan said. “Connor is still in the castle--”

“It would be far more expedient to use the blood ritual,” Morrigan said. “But I mislike the idea of placing such a delicate ritual in the hands of someone so inexperienced.”

“How many blood mages have you met?” Jowan said, offended. 

“Very few,” Morrigan admitted. “But I am more than capable of telling when someone is good at their craft, and you are not.”

“Oh.” Jowan deflated. 

“What about Connor?” Teagan said. “He could return--” 

“Then we have to be quick,” Kitranna said. “Do your best to keep out of his way—if he ran, then we still have some power over him.” she looked around. “Wynne, Fiona, Morrigan—you stay, you know how to stop demons, right?”

“For a time, yes,” Wynne said. “If necessary, we can erect a barrier to keep him inside the castle.”

“Great. Jowan--” Kitranna paused, and frowned. “Jowan, stay here.”

“But--”

“Leliana, come with me. We need to get across the lake and back. Everyone else, stay put.”

Everyone agreed and began preparations for sending Kitranna and Leliana back across the lake to the Circle. While they did so, Kitranna pulled Jowan, Zevran and Morrigan aside. 

“You two, look after him,” Kitranna said, pointing to Jowan.

“Kitranna!” Jowan protested.

“I don't trust Lady Isolde, but I don't want to bring you near the Templars,” Kitranna hissed. “Everyone else has that thing about blood magic.”

Morrigan crossed her arms. “I do not see why I should be responsible for the wellbeing of a grown man, incompetent though he may be.”

“Nor I,” Zevran said. “Not that I can speak much on an inability to kill a mark.”

Morrigan snorted.

“Hey--!” Jowan protested.

“Just make sure no one stabs him,” Kitranna said. “Alright? That's all. Leliana and I should be back soon, then we can finish this.” 

“If you insist,” Zevran sighed. “Although I would think our hosts would have other things on their mind.”

“Can't be too careful,” Kitranna said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can follow me on tumblr at http://thetapestryunwoven.tumblr.com/ if you want


	11. Ostracism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more fade shenanigans this time, and then our heroes clean up redcliffe
> 
> hey if any of y'all like this would u mind commenting? i'd really love to hear people's thoughts :)

Kitranna and Leliana left Redcliffe for the Circle, taking the swiftest boat Redcliffe had to offer to get across the lake. They went directly to the Tower instead of stopping off at Calenhad. 

The Templars were surprised to see Kitranna, but took her immediately to Irving without even asking her what her business was. Irving was in his office, attending to his many scattered books and documents. He still hadn't recovered from his ordeal, and looked pale and wan.

“Irving,” Kitranna nodded shortly in greeting.

“Warden Surana,” Irving said, glancing up at her once before going back to his papers. “Back so soon?” 

“Just here on a quick errand,” Kitranna said. “We need lyrium—we're trying to do a demon exorcism.”

Irving ran a hand through his beard. “An exorcism?”

“Someone's possessed, but they're not a full Abomination yet.”

“Ahh.” Irving nodded. “A rare case.”

“Yeah—and we need lyrium if we're going to help at all.”

“Are you so sure he can be cured?” he looked at her, his gaze intent.

“Wynne thinks so,” Kitranna lied through her teeth. “She stayed with him while we went and got lyrium for the ritual.”

“Do you have enough mages to do this spell?”

Kitranna nodded. “Four in total.”

“Hm,” Irving frowned. “Perhaps I should come with you,” he said. 

Kitranna thought of Jowan, hollow-eyed and pale. “No,” she said. “No, we have it under control.”

“Are you certain? Because--”

“We fixed up the Circle well enough, didn't we?”

Irving went quiet. “Yes,” he said at length. “You did.”

He let them go. Before they went, however, he asked them another question.

“You would not happen to know where some of my texts have vanished to, would you?”

“Not a clue,” Kitranna said, and she and Leliana left.

“You were lying,” Leliana said, once they were back on their boat and away from the Tower. “Morrigan took a book from the First Enchanter.”

Kitranna nodded. “Yeah. You wanna go back and tell him?”

Leliana looked away, towards the Tower. “no.”

“Alright then.”

The castle ground were quiet when they returned. Alistair came to meet them at the gate.

“You have it?” he said. “The lyrium?”

Kitranna nodded, and held out the case that they carried it in. “How's things here?” she asked as they went up the castle steps.

“Quiet,” Alistair said with a grimace. “Wynne had to put a barrier spell on the upstairs, though. That's where Connor's been hiding.”

“Right,” Kitranna said.

She met up with the other mages, and they decided on a plan. One of them was to go into the Fade, while a ritual the other mages performed would ensure that whomever they chose would be successfully routed into the demon's realm, past any possible obstacles. There was some debate over who would go—Morrigan had the best defense against demons, Wynne was a spirit healer but still vulnerable to a demon's exploits, Kitranna and Fiona were the best at combat...the list went on. Jowan was out of the question as being a blood mage, it would take a phenomenal amount of lyrium to send him to the part of the Fade they needed him to be in. 

Ultimately, it was decided that Morrigan would go. She knew the most about the exorcism ritual and she was one of the mages with the best defense against demons. A potion of Wynne's immediately put her to sleep, and the others began casting their spell. 

 

Morrigan found herself deep in the Fade for the second instance in a worryingly short amount of time. 

The demons had been uncommonly active lately, and she did not like it, but if she was to rescue the child she would be forced to put aside her suspicions till later. 

Predictably, the child did not recognize her when she found him, and led her on a merry chase through the landscape of the Fade until she found the demon who had ensnared him.

It was a Desire demon, who took the shape of a violet-skinned woman in a long purple dress. She hovered in the air, but the train of her dress touched the ground. She had a set of enormous horns that curved over and back over the crown of her head, and between the horns burned a purple fire. She had long, long hands whose fingers ended in filthy claws rather than fingernails. 

She scowled when she saw Morrigan. 

“ _Oh_ ,” she said. “ _It's you_.”

Morrigan raised her eyebrows. “I was not away we knew each other,” she said. 

The demon tilted her head. _“I felt you, of course—your magic, your dreams, your desires. I know you very well.”_

“You know no such thing. I will hear none of this foolishness.”

_“I have no wish to do battle with you, nor should you with me_ ,” the demon said. 

“How unfortunate,” with a thought, a staff came to Morrigan's hand. “For I have no time for words.”

_“You wish to slay your mother,”_ the demon said, a smile revealing tiny, pointed teeth. 

Morrigan cast a barrier spell on herself. “I have made no secret of that.”

_“Do you know what she is?”_

“Do you?” Morrigan tilted her head back. “I do not think that you do.”

_“She smells of magic and blood, your mother,_ ” the demon began to circle Morrigan, who kept her staff trained on it. _“Dragon's fire and death and something not seen in your world for an_ age--”

Morrigan threw a fireball at the demon. The demon sputtered and vanished, to reappear behind Morrigan.

_“If you wish a fight, you shall have one!”_ the demon's voice rumbled in her anger, a lower tone appearing under her higher one, and she summoned two Rage demons to assist her. 

Morrigan eventually killed the desire demon, and when she did so, the world began to dissolve around her. Everything went dark, and her own body vanished in a shower of sparks. 

 

Morrigan woke up, her head feeling congested and slow. 

“Morrigan?”

She rubbed her eyes and glanced up to see Kitranna hovering over her.

“I am fine,” Morrigan said, sitting up. “How is the boy?”

“He's fine too,” Kitranna gestured over to where Connor and Isolde sat on the other side of the room, Isolde holding Connor tightly and weeping profusely. Something in Morrigan's gut twisted. 

“Then all is well,” she said. 

“Not quite,” Kitranna added, glancing at Connor and Isolde. “Eamon still hasn't woken up.”

Morrigan sighed. “Perhaps Wynne may aid him...?”

Kitranna nodded. “Maybe.”

Wynne couldn't help Eamon. She tried her best, but he still wouldn't wake up. 

“He is in less danger now,” she said. “But I cannot restore him fully.” she looked him over. 

“There must be something we can do!” Isolde exclaimed. “The Urn, perhaps--”

“I don't know if the Urn is a real option,” Teagan said. 

“No, it is real!”

“Urn?” Kitranna said. “What Urn?”

“When Eamon first fell ill, we did everything we could to try and help him,” Isolde said. “But we could do nothing. Then, we heard of an artifact—the Urn of Sacred Ashes. It could cure anything!”

“I suppose a spirit healer from the Circle was out of the question?” Wynne sighed.

Isolde nodded. “We tried to contact them, but they said they could spare no one, not even for Eamon!”

“Where is this Urn?” Kitranna asked.

“I sent out men searching for it, but none have returned,” Isolde said. “The last I had heard, there was a man in Denerim, a Chantry Brother named Genitivi that knew of it.”

“We can't go to Denerim,” Kitranna said immediately. “Not with Loghain still looking for us, not before the Landsmeet--”

“And we still need to go to Orzammar,” Morrigan said. “We cannot waste time on one dying man when the Wardens still need to contact one of their allies.”

“Surana--” Alistair started. 

“I can go to Denerim,” Leliana said. “I can contact this Genitivi and find out what he knows. Loghain does not know me, and I move very fast on my own.” 

“And you'd meet us back in Orzammar?” Kitranna said.

“Wait--” Teagan said. “We still don't know if this Urn is even real--” 

“It is worth trying,” Leliana said. “I have heard rumors of this Urn as well, and even if it is not real, surely we must still try?” 

“Please,” Isolde said. “Anything you can do, anything that may help--!”

“I will go,” Leliana assured her. “Surana, I can meet you in Orzammar.”

“Are you sure you'll be able to catch up?” Wynne asked. “Or that you will be safe on your own?”

“I have traveled on my own before,” Leliana assured them. 

“Not with Loghain after you,” Alistair pointed out.

Leliana smiled. “No. I have had much worse after me.”

So it was decided that while Kitranna and the others went to the Frostbacks, Leliana would go to Denerim as quickly as possible to contact Brother Genitivi and see what he knew about this Urn. 

If the Urn was not a viable solution, then they would be forced to find some other means to cure Eamon. If they could not, Teagan could represent Eamon at the Landsmeet, but it would strike them a terrible blow. 

Kitranna and her group stayed one night in Redcliffe, helping both the castle and townsfolk attempt to clean up their home and try and repair some of the damage that the demon had done. 

They villagers set many boats out on the lake, and lit them aflame. Isolde and Connor watched from the shore banks, Isolde holding Connor tightly to her side. They weren't sending Connor to the Circle just yet, but they would have to soon. Isolde was not prepared to try and flee Redcliffe and seek shelter with the Chasind or the Avvar, who were known for harboring apostates, and since neither of them were elves or had elvhen blood, the Dalish were clearly not an option. Morrigan brought up the possibility of fleeing to the Wilds or some other distant corner of Ferelden, but Isolde refused. 

The next day, Teagan gave Leliana the fastest horse he could spare, and gave Kitranna and her group as much supplies as they needed, and everyone was off. Kitranna made sure Jowan was by her side when they left, that no one sneakily arrested him or anything like that. 

They were on the road a few days, and everyone was seemingly getting along, until the boredom of travel caught up with them, and the topic of blood magic came up. 

“You are so sure it is safe to bring your friend along with us?” Wynne asked Kitranna.

Kitranna glanced at the older woman. “You know Jowan,” she said. “He's perfectly safe.”

“Blood magic is dangerous,” Wynne said. “Can he really be trusted?”

“Yes.”

“Are you so sure? Blood magic opens the door to many worse kinds of magic. It is not forbidden for no reason.”

“Are you going on about forbidden magics again, old woman?” Morrigan rolled her eyes. She had been listening in with a sour expression. 

“There are good reasons for the limitations on magic,” Wynne said.

“How is it a good reason when all it is is the Templars not wanting us to be able to get out of the Tower?” Kitranna demanded. “The Dalish seemed to do just fine on their own.”

“The Avvar and the Chasind are both fine without the Circles as well,” Fiona piped up. “Despite how the Circle and the Chantry would tell you otherwise.”

“Do they commonly employ blood magic?” Wynne asked. “That is a staple of the Imperium—it is forbidden for a reason.”

“Tch!” Morrigan waved a hand. “It is only forbidden because the Imperium misuses it _tremendously_.”

“Well they do kind of summon a lot of demons and keep slaves,” Alistair pointed out. “I wouldn't want to use any magic they came up with either.”

“I can't summon demons!” Jowan exclaimed loudly. 

They all looked at him.

“Yes you can,” Alistair said. “Isn't that one of the main things blood mages do?”

Jowan shook his head. “That's what I thought!” he said. “I mean—you hear so much about blood mages summoning demons, and getting their knowledge from demons and such—but the more blood magic you do, the harder it is to access the Fade!”

“Then why are there so many tales of blood mages summoning terrible demons and becoming abominations?” Zevran asked.

Jowan shrugged. “I don't know—but they're all wrong. The only demons I can summon now are little ones—that's why I'd need to kill someone just to send one person into the Fade. You get power from blood, but none of it brings you any closer to the Fade. If anything, I think it makes the Veil stronger.”

“That cannot be right,” Wynne said, pursing her lips.

“Oh, the Templars getting something wrong about magic? Big surprise,” Kitranna said, a bitter curl to her lips. 

“I think it's not that they got it wrong,” Jowan said. “I think they _lied_ about it.”

“But why would they do that?” Wynne asked.

“Why wouldn't they?” Kitranna said. “Anything to keep us in the Circle, right?”

“The Circles are for our protection,” Wynne insisted. “They have no reason to lie to us. Many mages would be in danger if they had no support and knew no other mages.”

“Organizations of all sorts lie about many things,” Fiona said. “But magic is so feared and so maligned I would not be surprised if they really did get it wrong.”

“So...you don't summon demons, then?” Alistair asked Jowan. “What about controlling people's minds?”

“I don't really do that either,” Jowan said. “But I could I I wanted to. Not the demons, though.”

“What else does blood magic do?” 

Jowan looked away. "A lot of things," he said. "I've been trying to stop using it so much though..."

Morrigan let out a snort, but at a glare from Kitranna, didn't comment.

 

Leliana reached Denerim in half the time it normally would have taken, riding her horse as hard as he would go. She had to dodge soldiers searching for the Wardens, but if she donned her Chantry garb, no one looked twice at her. 

Denerim was wet and chilly this time of year, the streets muddy. There was a disease that had closed off the Alienage, and some of the illness had spread to the poorer districts as well. 

Brother Genitivi's house was near the Alienage, surrounded by crowded, dark little houses, some with marks of plague on the door. Brother Genitivi's house had no sign of plague, but there was something about it that set the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. 

The door was unlocked, which didn't bode well. She went inside quietly, one hand on the blade at her belt. 

“Brother Genitivi?” Leliana called.

“He's not here,” a thin human man with dark hair peered around a corner.

“Oh!” Leliana said. “I am sorry. Could you tell me where he is?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I had something very important I need to ask him.”

“You're looking for the Urn, aren't you?” the man looked her up and down, taking in the Chantry Sister habit and the daggers on her belt. 

Leliana narrowed her eyes. “Do you know of it?”

“I know Brother Genitivi was looking for it, and went searching for it, and he vanished. Then some knights from Redcliffe came, and they vanished too.”

Leliana looked the man up and down. “Do you know what happened to them?”

He shook his head. “This quest is cursed,” he insisted. “You should leave it be.”

“I cannot do that.”

The man pinched the bridge of his nose. “Brother Genitivi went to Lake Calenhad,” he said. “For research. I pray for his safe return, but I do not now what has happened to him.”

“Lake Calenhad?” Leliana calculated in her head. “How long ago?”

“A—a month, perhaps two.”

He would have been there at roughly the same time they were there. She had heard nothing of any Brother doing research—but then again, they had had other concerns. She peered intently at the man. “Could you tell me anything more? Anything at all? Perhaps he had notes I could see?”

“No,” Waylon said. “No, nothing like that.”

At that, Leliana frowned. “You know nothing of his research?”

“No.” 

“Then why are you here, if you are not an assistant?”

“I—I am not privy to everything he knows--”

Leliana stepped closer. With a start, she caught the faint scent of lyrium. 

“You are no Brother,” she breathed.

The man's face contorted, and he sent a clumsy shock spell at her. She dived out of the way and unsheathed her daggers. The man was not a competent fighter; she had him down within a few minutes. 

She stood over his body and wiped the daggers on a cloth from the table. She sighed. Something was rotten here.

She searched the house, and found the body of another man—perhaps the original Waylon, or some other innocent victim in whatever this was. With a pang, she was reminded of the Game of Orlais. 

She did in fact find some research of Genitivi's, books which pointed to him going to the Frostbacks, not Calenhad. His maps indicated a miniscule town in the mountains called Haven, several miles south of the entrance to Orzammar. 

Leliana pocketed the maps and left, anonymously tipping off the Guard to the two bodies in Genitivi's house. It would do no one any good to leave two rotting bodies in an area already afflicted with plague.


	12. Obarmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our heroes go to orzammar!
> 
> 'dwarrowdam' just means 'dwarf woman.' it's never used in the games but i like the word so in it goes

The Frostbacks lived up to their name. 

Where the lowlands of Ferelden were muddy and rainy, the Frostbacks were cold. The entire party (save Shale, of course) switched over to the winter gear that Teagan had provided in order to deal with the weather. Simple leather and cloth were no longer enough, and they all donned thick fur cloaks and hats. Alistair, in his heavier armor, was better off, but even he had to switch out his leather gloves and boots for thicker ones of fur. The further up the trail they went, the heavier the snowfall became. 

Poor Zevran probably felt the worst of it. Being Antivan, he was hardly used to the cold of the Ferelden lowlands, never mind the mountains. 

“How does anyone live here?” he complained, his face almost entirely obscured by a thick scarf. 

“Wearing many layers,” Fiona said. She was similarly wrapped up, with a hood pulled low over her forehead and a scarf pulled up to her nose. 

It was when they encountered a group of highwaymen when they learned what Wynne had suffered during the demon attack at the Circle. 

They dispatched the highwaymen with ease, but after the fight, Wynne collapsed.

“Wynne!” Kitranna went to the woman's side, but Wynne managed to get to her feet without assistance. 

The older woman rubbed her forehead. “I...I fell,” she said, blinking. 

“You fainted,” Fiona corrected. 

“I hope your age is not catching up to you,” Morrigan said.

“Hey,” Alistair reprimanded Morrigan with a scowl.

“It is an honest concern!”

“Are you alright?” Kitranna asked, ignoring Morrigan. She guided Wynne to sit on a log by the side of the road, and the party gathered around her.

“For a moment there I thought I was...I thought it was all over.”

“Not yet,” Kitranna said. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Wynne shook her head. “I am not hurt.”

“Then what's wrong?”

Wynne looked at all of them, who each looked back at her expectantly.

“We can't help if we don't know what's the matter,” Fiona pointed out.

Wynne shook her head. “No...no, you are right,” she said. “Something...happened to me at the Tower, before you arrived. I saved one of the apprentices, Petra, from a demon. But I...did not survive the encounter.”

“You appear quite mobile for a dead woman,” Zevran said, raising his eyebrows. He handed took a skin of water and flavored it with some honey, then handed it to Wynne, who accepted it. 

“I am not dead,” she said. She didn't drink from the waterskin, just held it in her hands. “It is...hard to describe. I engaged a very powerful demon to rescue Petra, and it sapped my strength to kill it. When I was done, I no longer had the strength to keep my heart beating.”

Morrigan leaned forward, looking fascinated. 

“What happened next?” Kitranna asked. 

“I remember impenetrable darkness,” Wynne said, closing her eyes. “All-encompassing. But then—I felt a presence, enfolding me. It is impossible to describe.”

“Perhaps it will be easier if you drink some of that?” Zevran said pointedly, looking at the container in her hands. “Regain some of your strength?”

Wynne peered at Zevran curiously, but drank. Then she continued her story. “I was being...held back, firmly, but gently, as a mother would a child eager to slip from her grasp. I felt light and warmth flowing through my veins again, and I began to be aware of sounds again, and the pain of my hip pressing into the stone floor.”

“Ah,” Morrigan nodded as if everything made sense. “Your injury called a friendly spirit to aid you in a time of need.”

“The Fade contains many spirits,” Wynne said with a shrug. “And the spirit that helped me—without it, I would be dead. It has not left me. It is here with me still, bonded to me.”

“But what does that have to do with why you collapsed?” Kitranna asked.

“I am supposed to be dead, you see,” Wynne explained. “It is the spirit that is keeping me in this world, and this is not the way of things. Perhaps the spirit did not expect this. It is weakening, gradually but surely. I am living on borrowed time.”

“Do you know how long you have?” Fiona asked.

Wynne shook her head. She got to her feet and dusted off her knees. “No,” she said. “But I can feel when it is weakening, so I should have some warning.”

“Had you known how to call friendly spirits, perhaps one could have aided you in your battle with the demon,” Morrigan said. “Then it would not have felt the need to bond itself to you. Or, you could have done as the Tevinters do, and bind a spirit to your will intentionally.”

Wynne shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, I would not do that.”

Morrigan tilted her head up. “'Tis your loss, I suppose.”

“I do not think it is. Come, we should make the most of the time we have.”

In their journey to the gates of Orzammar, they encountered several Dalish who came to them with messages from various Clans, pledging their alliance to the Wardens. They got the distinct impression as they went through the mountains that they were being watched, but they never caught anyone in the act. 

At last, however, they came to the gates of Orzammar. They were literal gates, two huge iron doors set into the hillside, towering overhead. There was the remains of the stone highway that scattered the lowlands, and ruins of enormous statues around as well. Before the gates was a collection of tents and ramshackle shacks built in the shadows of the gates and the statues, the makings of a tiny town. Dwarven and human merchants mostly, no sign of any elves or vashothari. 

The merchants watched Kitranna's group with wary eyes, the dwarves outright staring at Shale, but no one bothered them. There was someone already at the gates when they got there. Several dwarven guards, and a contingent of humans arguing with each other. 

“King Loghain will not suffer the delay of his appointed messenger!” the human at the forefront of his group exclaimed, and everyone in Kitranna's party stiffened. The dwarven guard were having none of it.

“Veata! This land is held in trust of the sovereign dwarven kings,” said the dwarven guard. “I cannot allow entry at this time.”

“King Loghain demands the allegiance of the Deshyr, or lords, or—whatever you call your Assembly!” the human snapped. “I am his appointed messenger!”

“I don't care if you're the king's chamber-pot-cleaner, Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled.”

Kitranna frowned and glanced at her companions, before stepping up. “What if our reason is urgent?” she asked. 

“Ours is urgent as well,” said the human, looking Kitranna up and down, then glancing at her party. His eyes lingered on Kitranna's ears and on the staffs that the mages carried. “If I don't get in, no one should.” Both he and the dwarf stared up at Shale for a moment. 

The dwarf folded his arms. “It doesn't matter the need,” he said. “Orzammar has no king, so there is no one to negotiate with. King Endrin Aeducan passed to the Stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his sons.”

“Are you sure there's no one we can talk to?” Kitranna asked. “This has to do with Orzammar as well as Ferelden. Haven't you heard that a Blight is coming?”

“Wait. Who are you?” the human asked, his eyes narrowing. “Who do you speak for? What does the Blight matter to an elf?”

The dwarf snorted and rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. 

“We're from...” Kitranna paused. “We're from Bann Teagan,” she improvised. “Since the army failed at Ostagar, we're here to try and ally with Orzammar against the Blight.”

“Bann Teagan?” the messenger pursed his lips. 

Out of her pack, Kitranna pulled the documents that secured Orzammar's aid for the Wardens in times of Blight. “Here,” she said. “Maybe this will help.”

The dwarf looked the document over. “This is the royal seal,” he said with a nod. “Only the Assembly is authorized to address it. You may pass.”

“But--!” the human said. “She is not a messenger of the King!”

“Last I heard, Loghain wasn't even in line for the throne,” Alistair said. “When'd he declare himself King?”

“She has better documentation than you do,” the dwarf said before the human could argue with Alistair. “And she hasn't been at my door for a day and a half, demanding to be let in.”

The doors creaked and groaned as the other dwarven guards moved to start the mechanisms to open them.

“What about Leliana?” Wynne asked. “How will she follow us?”

“Oh, right!” Kitranna said. She turned back to the dwarf. “We have another member of our group running behind us. She's a human, with red hair,” Kitranna said. “About ye tall. She has very important information for us, so if you see her, could you let her in?”

“I can't do that,' the dwarf said. “If she doesn't have the right documentation, she'll just have to wait out here.”

Kitranna put her hands on her hips and looked at her party. “Should we just wait here for her?”

“That would waste valuable time,” Morrigan pointed out. 

“Would it suit if I alone waited here for her, and then when she arrived, we went in together?” Wynne asked the guard. “You know I am with Surana.”

The guard stroked his beard in thought, eyes darting between Kitranna and Wynne. At length he nodded. “I make no promises,” he admitted. “But at the very least, you will be informed of her presence.”

“I guess that'll have to do,” Kitranna said. “Wynne, will you be alright out here?”

“I will be perfectly fine,” Wynne assured her. 

“If you are sure...” Fiona said. 

“I am.”

“You're going to let them in?” the human exclaimed, and they all turned to look at him. They had just about forgotten he was there. “Foreigners and—mages?”

“Yes,” the guard said. 

“But--!”

The doors were open now. Fiona clapped Wynne on the shoulder, and then the others went inside. 

Beyond the doors was a broad staircase that lead down into the mountain. The staircase was lit with torches, and carved into the walls were many images of, one assumed, the history of Orzammar. 

The further down they went, the hotter it got. Soon the torches were replaced with flat crystal windows, beyond which there were flows of lava which lit everything with a dull red glow. They soon found themselves shedding their cold weather clothes and putting them away. 

“Have you ever been here before, Shale?” Alistair asked the golem.

Shale shook their head. “Not that I can recall,” they said. “I believe I was found in a thaig far from here, though I do not remember how I came to be there.”

“Flemeth made mention of Orzammar once or twice,” Morrigan said absently. “Apparently, Elvhenan and the dwarven kingdom had some sort of relationship with each other.”

“Did they?” Fiona asked, peering at Morrigan.

Morrigan shrugged. “I do not know if that is the truth, nor did Flemeth say much about it.”

“Some elvhen and dwarven ruins are old enough to be contemporaries, aren't they?” Kitranna mentioned.

“They are,” Fiona said. “but very little work has gone into studying elvhen ruins at all—not that I know of, anyway. I am sure the Tevinters and Orlesians have plundered what they could, however.”

“Is it not the common understanding that elves and dwarves are rivals?” Zevran asked.

“You don't really believe that, do you?” Kitranna said.

“Not really,” Zevran said. “But for some reason, many people seem to think it. I could not say why—I have gotten along with most of the dwarves I have encountered.”

“The ones you didn't assassinate, you mean?” Alistair said.

“Yes, precisely,” Zevran said with a winning smile. 

The stairs were long, and it took them quite some time to come to Orzammar proper. However, at long last, they arrived in the city itself. They found themselves in an enormous antechamber decorated with large statues of varying ages. The ceiling was so high overhead that it faded into darkness, even with the lava lighting the room. 

It was hot, incredibly so. The lava that had lit the entry stairwell was even more prevalent here, and even though it was all kept behind many layers of crystal, the heat still seeped through. 

Unbelievably, the dwarves that were there were either in full armor, or in dress suited to a Ferelden autumn. One dwarrowdam was in a heavy-looking dress that fell all the way to her feet and covered her up to her neck. 

The dwarves glanced at them as they passed, some with curiosity, most looking irritated and wary.

As they walked further down the hall, Alistair commented “Those statues are of their Paragons, if I remember rightly. The best of their ancestors.”

Kitranna glanced at the statues—they depicted different dwarves, both men and women, holding different weapons or tools. One was clearly very new, placed near the front, depicting a dwarrowdam with broad shoulders and a hammer in her hand. 

They passed through the Hall of Heroes, and out into the main city. If the Hall had been large, the city itself was absolutely enormous. It was even hotter here, as the entire city was built into a cliff-face overlooking a massive sea of lava. 

“How can they possibly stand to live in such heat?” Morrigan grumbled. She had taken off her cloak and now her scarf as well.

“It is not so bad,” Zevran said. “I rather like it.”

“Hush, both of you,” Fiona muttered. They were coming up on a crowd of dwarves who looked less than pleased with each other.

“It is the Assembly who elects a king, and a king who nominates his successor,” one richly-dressed dwarf was saying. “None of it is carried in the blood.”

Another dwarf, this one clearly younger and in armor, with a weapon slung over his back. “Or, as now, when someone tries using the Assembly to pull a coup,” he said. “Who's to say what my father said in his final hours, when the usurper Harrowmont was the only one by his side?”

The older dwarf scowled. “I'll have you thrown in prison for what you've done--!”

The younger smirked. “You've bitten off more than you can chew!”

Another dwarf came between the two. “Handlers—separate these two before they start a riot! I won't have Bhelen inciting violence!”

Another dwarf, also in armor, stepped forward, pulling his weapon. “You'll not speak that way about the man who should be king!” he raised his ax, and everyone could quite clearly see what was about to happen.

On impulse, Kitranna slammed the dwarf with a strong ice spell. There were gasps and exclamations of surprise, and everyone turned to her.

“That wasn't wise,” Fiona muttered.

“...I don't like people waving big axes around,” Kitranna said by way of explanation. 

Several guards came by and dispersed the crowd. The two dwarves who had been arguing with each other, Bhelen and Harrowmont, glared sourly but allowed the guards to come between them.

“Don't usually like surfacers interfering in our affairs,” one of the guards came up to Kitranna. He was in more decorated plate than the others, indicating he was probably in charge. “But I don't really like people killing each other in the streets, either, so I suppose I should thank you for stepping in.”

“You're welcome,” Kitranna said. “Sorry if I upset anything—I just really don't like people waving their weapons around. Never ends well.”

“That's a pretty good instinct, I suppose,” the guard said. He folded his arms. “Why are you here? The Blight?”

“How'd you know?” Alistair said.

“That's just about the only reason any surfacer comes down here, if they don't want to trade,” he said. “And there's been some pretty bad darkspawn attacks in the Deep Roads. Doesn't take a genius to figure out there's a Blight stirring.” he sighed. “Surface problems.”

“Is a Blight not your concern as well?” Morrigan asked.

He shrugged. “It's not the same for us as it is for you. We know how to deal with darkspawn, have for hundreds of years. And surfacers don't have lakes of lava protecting them, either,” he gestured out to the cavern where the lava rested. “Either way, we have no king to hear you, so we can't be much help. You could join the shouting at the Assembly if you wanted, but I don't know that it'll do much good.”

“You have so little faith in your leaders?” Morrigan said.

“How is that surprising?” Zevran said. 

“Is the situation that bad?” Kitranna asked. “Because we kind of need some dwarven aid.”

The guard rubbed the back of his head. “Bunch of deshyr lords fighting over sand. Bhelen, Harrowmont...is one so different from the other? No Paragons here.”

“Sounds like Bhelen and Harrowmont are the ones to talk to,” Alistair said. 

“You could, if you really wanted to,” the guard said. “Personally, I think the lords should toss them both out on their ears and go and find Culwydd Aeducan, but that's not going to happen.”

“Who's that?” Kitranna asked. 

“Bhelen's older sister,” he explained. “They say she killed the oldest brother, Trian, and they sent her to the Deep Roads for it, but just about everyone knows Bhelen's the backstabber of the family.” he shifted on his feet. “I'm not really the one to be telling you this. If you want, the Diamond Quarter's up that way,” he pointed to a set up steps that lead up to a higher level of the city. “Go to the Shaper in the Shaperate. If you want to try getting our help, I suggest you know us first.”

“Well...thanks,” Kitranna said. She looked around at her companions. “We should get going.”

“Yes, you should.”

They headed up the long flight of stairs to the Diamond Quarter. The heat did not abate in the slightest, but the stone became smoother, the carvings more intricate. True to its name, the Diamond Quarter had many precious gemstones embedded in the various carvings and decorations. The dwarves here were dressed richer, in fine clothes and jewelry or intricately worked armor. 

“D'you think dwarves could make armor for someone human-sized?” Alistair said, eying a dwarrowdam in shining plate. 

“There are many dwarven smiths on the surface,” Fiona pointed out. “I assume they would be able to.”

“But those are surfacer smiths,” Alistair pointed out. “Would anyone down here even bother?”

“Perhaps not for you,” Morrigan muttered. “But perhaps for Surana, they would.”

“I don't know,” Kitranna said. “I think I annoyed them.”

“You also prevented a possible riot,” Morrigan pointed out. 

“Sometimes a good riot is all people really want,” Zevran said. “They may not appreciate her meddling in their affairs.”

They walked past several town criers, two of which appeared to be having some sort of passive-aggressive duel of words, as they shouted opposite opinions of Bhelen and Harrowmont. 

“Where did he say we should go?” Kitranna asked. “The Shaperate?”

Fiona nodded. “It's where their historians are,” she said.

“What would it look like?” the signs here only had images, no words, like most of the towns in Ferelden. However, unlike Ferelden, many of the symbols were unfamiliar to her. 

Fiona shrugged. 

“We could always ask someone,” Alistair said. 

“We haven't come across it yet,” Shale said suddenly. They all looked around at the golem. 

“You know where it is?” Kitranna asked.

“No, but I do know what it looks like, and we have not passed it yet.”

“Oh. Well, let me know when we do,” Kitranna said.

“If I must.”

Several dwarves looked round at Shale, clearly not expecting the golem to talk, but no one said anything. They continued on their way. 

They did find the Shaperate at last, at one extreme end of the Diamond Quarter. Shale pointed it out immediately when they came across it, and they went inside. 

They were immediately struck by both the lighting and the temperature difference. It was far cooler inside the Shaperate than outside, and the light was not lava or torches, but brilliant blue crystals set inside clear sconces. The feeling emanating from the sconces told Kitranna they were made from Lyrium. 

“Well, this is certainly a relief,” Morrigan sighed, wiping her forehead. 

“We're looking for the Shaper, right?” Kitranna said.

“That's who he said we should look for,” Alistair said.

“The Shaper would have the best information about Orzammar and the people competing for the throne, so yes, that is who you are looking for,” Shale said, sounding somewhat irritated. 

They moved further into the Shaperate, finding themselves in a library crowded with many old books and tomes. It was quiet, and several dwarven scholars moved among the shelves. 

They asked around, and one of the scholars pointed them to an old dwarf with a long gray beard, who stood at the back of the library. They approached him.

“You are the Warden.” the Shaper said, looking Kitranna over.

“I never said I was,” Kitranna said.

“Do not take me for a fool,” the Shaper said, a tiny smile flashing across his face for an instant. “What other surfacers but Wardens care to deal with the Blight?”

“Not very many,” Alistair admitted.

The Shaper sighed. “The Memories often speak of the swiftness with which change overtakes us, but it is different to see it firsthand.”

“Change?” Kitranna asked. 

“Even Orzammar has not seen a Blight such as this for a long, long time,” the Shaper said. “The king is dead, and things move in the Deep Roads." He shook his head. “I apologize, Warden. I should not burden a stranger with such things.”

“That's what we're here fore,” Kitranna said. “Don't worry about it.”

“You came here for information, I assume, not portent and signs. Forgive me, I am Czibor, the Shaper of Memories.”

“I'm Kitranna Surana,” said she. “Fiona and Alistair are Wardens also, and that's Morrigan, Zevran, Jowan, and Shale.”

“The golem has a name?” Czibor said, furrowing his brow.

“Should I not?” Shale rumbled, making the other dwarves in the room jump and look towards them. 

“There is nothing saying you should not,” Czibor said. “But I have never known a golem to even speak, much less take a name.” he grabbed a piece of paper and wrote a note down on it. “But we have lost much lore concerning golems.”

“I hope you have not lost the information we seek,” Morrigan said.

Czibor looked at her. “That depends entirely upon what you wish to know,” he said, lips pursed.

“We wanna know more about your government,” Kitranna said. “Harrowmont and Bhelen, and the way your Assembly works.”

“We want to try and help,” Alistair put in.

“A noble goal, but one I do not think is possible,” Czibor sighed. “However, that is certainly something I can tell you about.”

He told them of the Assembly, how the dwarven kings were picked. Bhelen was the son of Endrin Aeducan, but apparently many people did not trust him to lead. He was brash and violent, pushing for more contact with the surface, as well as with Kal-sharok, the only other inhabited dwarven Thaig still in existence. Harrowmont, on the other hand, was more restrained, wishing to be more isolated in their conduct, and was a firmly established noble. However, there were many dwarves, particular younger warriors and nobles, who disliked his policy of isolationism.

Traditionally, the king or queen appointed their own successor, but in this case, Endrin had appointed no one, which was what was causing the split in the Assembly. 

“Someone told us Bhelen had siblings,” Kitranna said. “A brother and a sister. Could one of them stake a claim on the throne or...?”

Czibor's face fell. “A sad tale, that,” he said. “Yes, Bhelen had two siblings. An older brother, Trian, and an older sister, Culwydd, and now he has neither.”

“What happened to them?”

“It is written in the Memories that Culwydd killed her brother in the Deep Roads, and she was exiled there for kinslaying,” Czibor said.

“I sense some doubt there,” Alistair muttered.

“There is indeed doubt,' Czibor said. “The trial was very quick, the circumstances suspicious, the details murky. But that is what is written in the Memories, so that is what occurred.”

“What if there was to be evidence that proved the opposite?” Fiona asked. “Would you be forced to change the Memories?”

Czibor shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said. “It would depend upon the evidence.”

They talked some more, Czibor providing more details about the Assembly, as well as some basics about the Caste system. He spoke with extreme distaste about the Casteless, something which made the hair on the back of Kitranna's neck stand up. They left soon afterwards. 

“So...” Kitranna said. “I suppose...to get rid of the deadlock, we have to make sure someone becomes king.”

Morrigan sighed. “Surely there is a faster way to secure an alliance?” she said. 

“It doesn't sound like it,” Fiona said. 

“So, Bhelen or Harrowmont?” Kitranna said.

“We don't really know enough about either to decide, do we?” Alistair said.

“I would say, we should find this missing sister and put her on the throne,” Zevran suggested.

They all looked at him.

“Zevran, she was exiled to the Deep Roads,” Alistair said slowly. “For killing her brother.”

“The chances are better that she did not actually kill him,” Zevran said. “The entire thing sounds quite like a fouled up assassination attempt, or a successful attempt at staining her reputation for some reason.”

“She is still in the Deep Roads,” Fiona pointed out. “She is likely dead by now.”

Zevran shrugged. “I would not wish to ally with either of these people,” he said. “They seem like they would support the assassination trade, if you take my meaning. Helpful for assassins, not so much for anyone else.”

“I think we should ally with Bhelen, barring any other options,” Fiona said. “He is more progressive and open to interaction with the Surface, which means he will probably be more likely to ally with us.”

“We should go and see him, then, right?” Kitranna said. 

“We should go to the Assembly,” Alistair said. “If we can't talk to him, I bet we could talk to someone who supports him.

So the Assembly was where they went. Like the Shaperate, it was lit not with lava, but with blue Lyrium torches. 

The Assembly itself was enormous, packed with various dwarves, all looking extremely unhappy. Most of them were in armor, but some were in rich clothes and jewels. No one paid Kitranna's group any mind when they walked in, as someone already had the floor.

“Your mind has gone to dust if you think we would pass that writ!” the speaker was a middle-aged dwarf wearing armor, a mace slung over his back. “Half our houses would go broke without the surface trade!”

“The proposal would only be effective until we had a King or Queen to ensure we are respected by the surfacers!” argued another dwarf, this one with a long black beard and a sword at his side.

“Leaving you conveniently positioned to take over all contracts!” the first speaker accused. “I'll see your head on a pike, first!”

Kitranna's group tensed, and their hands moved closer to their weapons, but their caution was not needed. A new person raised their voice.

“Deshyrs, Lords and Ladies of the Assembly,” she said, holding up her hands for peace. “I've already doubled the guard to prevent violence—must I summon more?”

“Steward Bandelora, Bhelen's sympathizers are tying our hands with trivialities!” the middle-aged dwarf exclaimed. “They may as well open us to the sky!”

“I suggest we put the matter to a vote,” suggested a dwarrowdam in a heavy brocaded gown. She also, oddly, had a mace strapped to her back, and a shield as well. 

“And I suggest you have a taste of my family's mace!” shouted another dwarf, slamming his hand on the table. 

“Enough!” Steward Bandelora called out as the Assembly erupted in arguing. “The Assembly is in recess until the members can regain control of their emotions!”

The deshyrs dispersed, the guards watching the more irate members for signs of violence, and Kitranna and the others were relegated to an outside hall. Steward Bandelora came out of the Assembly after them, slamming the door behind her.

“Stone-forsaken fools and dusters...” Bandelora growled. She glanced at Kitranna, and her back straightened. “I'm sorry. This is an Assembly of the Clans. Only Deshyrs and occasional guests of state are allowed in.”

“We're the Wardens,” Kitranna said. “From the Surface? We need to speak to your Assembly.”

“We have permission,” Alistair added.

Bandelora rubbed her forehead. “Right, right, I should have recognized...forgive me. I'm so exhausted, I completely forgot the message from the guard. I hope you can forgive our unrest—the loss of King Endrin has hit us hard. Respect for your role is great, but you won't have a proper audience or hearing until we have a monarch on the throne.”

“Is there anything we can do to help with that?' Kitranna said. “We thought if we supported one of the candidates...”

“Perhaps the support of the Wardens would break the stalemate in the Assembly,” Bandelora said. “But both Bhelen and Harrowmont are slow to trust in these uncertain times.” she looked up at them, her expression thoughtful. “Who were you thinking of approaching?”

“Prince Bhelen.”

Bandelora let out a long sigh. “Would that Prince Trian or Princess Culwydd were still with us,” she said. 

“We've heard people say that a few times,” Alistair said. “Is Bhelen really that bad?”

“He's very—fiery,” Bandelora said. “Headstrong, impulsive. Very young. His siblings were a stabilizing influence, or at least, it appeared that way.”

“What about Harrowmont?” Fiona asked. “What of his reputation?”

“If you seek aid against the Blight, you would be better off going to Bhelen,” Bandelora told them. “Harrowmont is far more level-headed, but he wants us to pull back from the Surface.” she frowned. “He was a great friend of King Endrin, but many people trust neither him nor Bhelen. That's why the Assembly is so split—King Endrin died very suddenly, and most assumed he would have chosen one of his older children for the throne.”

Zevran raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side, listening intently. 

“Can we talk to Bhelen?” Kitranna asked.

Bandelora shook her head. “He's barricaded himself in the Royal Palace—if you want to contact him, you'll need to go through Vartag Gavorn, his second.”

“Where can we find him?”

“He's often here, in the Assembly.” Bandelora glanced around. “I am not quite sure where he is at the moment, but I am sure you can find him. I'm simply sorry there isn't more I can do for you.”

They spent a few minutes looking for Gavorn, and finally found him in another side room. He recognized them the moment he saw them.

“Wardens, welcome,” he said. He had short, dark hair and beard, much less hair than the other dwarves. “It is always a pleasure to have one of your order in Orzammar.”

“You're the second to Prince Bhelen?” Kitranna asked.

He inclined his head. “That I am.”

“We need to speak to him. We're trying to break the Assembly's stalemate, so we can--”

“So you can get aid for the Blight on the surface, yes, I am aware. You must understand, Harrowmont hides behind his good reputation while sending spies and assassins. Bhelen can't know who to trust. It's been like a knife in the heart for Bhelen to see so many of his father's men stand with the usurper, and so soon after Lady Aeducan betrayed her brother especially.”

Kitranna and her companions all looked at each other. Morrigan had a skeptical expression, and Fiona seemed doubtful as well.

“Is there something we could do to prove our...good intentions?” Alistair asked.

Vortag's eyes narrowed in thought. “Harrowmont has engaged in a campaign of bribery and coercion to ensure every house serves him. But, if a neutral party, a stranger, were to approach certain key members, perhaps with irrefutable proof of Harrowmont's deception...”

“And I suppose you have this evidence,” Fiona said, folding her arms.

“I am certain my lord prince would show his gratitude.”

Kitranna's mouth twisted. 

Zevran leaned forward. “What kind of evidence do you have?” curiously, his accent had smoothed out some, as if he were intentionally lessening it. 

“Lord Harrowmont promised the same portion of his estate to two different deshyrs, Lady Dace and Lord Helmi,” Vartag explained. “Harrowmont can't possibly grant it to both of them, but they won't find that out until the vote is cast.”

Zevran smirked and raised an eyebrow. “And I assume these lords are on poor enough terms that they would not compare notes?”

Vartag nodded. “Exactly so. I have copies of the promissory notes Harrowmont gave both of them--”

“And these would appear accurate?” Zevran said. “Could either of these lords—or, the Lord and Lady, rather—detect a forgery?”

Vartag frowned. “They are not forgeries,” he said.

“But that is what they will suspect,” Zevran said. “If the two persons who are to be monarch cannot trust outsiders, how can any noble?”

Vartag's lips thinned. “No, they are accurate copies,” he said. “Once Lord Helmi and Lady Dace see them, they are bound to reconsider their votes.”

“And you are quite certain there is no third party that they may support?” Zevran said. “This kind of plan always had the chance of backfiring.”

“No, there's no third party,” Vartag explained. “Having two candidates is rare enough as it is, we're not usually deadlocked like this.”

“Hm.” Zevran glanced at Kitranna. “If you wish, I can do this,” Zevran said with a shrug. “I have done many variations upon this exact same errand before.”

“You call this an errand?” Jowan exclaimed.

“Yes.” Zevran glanced at him. “It is simple enough—especially since it only requires exposing one layer of subterfuge and not introducing any others.”

Kitranna tapped one side of her face.

“If we are to do this, we must do it now,” Morrigan said. 

“Alright,” Kitranna said. “Zevran, if you can do it, do it.”

Zevran smiled, and turned back to Vartag. “There you are—I am your humble messenger. You are certain they will not be overly suspicious of a surfacer delivering this information?”

“No, most likely not,” Vartag said. “You probably want to try and deliver it anonymously anyway, though.”

“That is something I can certainly do.”


	13. Amnesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our heroes do some more things in orzammar
> 
> i like to think that zev is way more adept at politics than he lets on in-game, and that he and leliana actually have roughly equivalent political experience
> 
> reminder to comment if u like this :)

Back up at the gates of Orzammar, Wynne set up camp near one of the dwarrowdam merchants. She had no idea how long it would take Leliana to reach her, so she thought it best to prepare for a possibly lengthy stay.

She would wait until Kitranna and the others were finished with their business in Orzammar, or until Leliana got here. She hoped bad luck had not befallen Leliana, but one needed to be prepared for the worst. 

Loghain's messenger was still lingering around, periodically bothering the guards at the gate. They still refused to let him inside. 

Wynne stayed out of his way, and the messenger hardly noticed her. She had been on the mountain for two days, the cold seeping into her bones, when Leliana finally arrived, galloping into the encampment on an exhausted horse.

Wynne went up to her.

“Wynne!” Leliana exclaimed, beaming as she saw her. 

“Leliana,” Wynne smiled. “I am glad you arrived her safely.”

“Where is everyone else?” Leliana asked.

“They went on ahead to Orzammar,” Wynne explained. “I volunteered to wait here for you.”

“They are in Orzammar already?”

Wynne inclined her head, and glanced at the gate. “Hopefully the guards will let us in,” she said. “We don't have a Warden with us, which may give us trouble. They do know us, however.”

“How long have you been here by yourself?”

“I am hardly by myself,” Wynne chuckled. “And only a day or so.”

Leliana pursed her lips. “It's so cold here—are you sure you are all right?”

"I am perfectly fine, my dear—come, we need to meet with Surana.”

They went to the gate, and after some deliberation, the guards allowed them inside, sending word ahead first. 

The city was larger than either of them had anticipated, and hotter, too. 

“It's a good thing Surana's tall,” Leliana pointed out. 

“They have Shale with them, as well,” Wynne said. “We should find them soon.”

They asked a nearby guard, and apparently the Wardens were last spotted in the Diamond Quarter, presumably to go to the Assembly. They went there (getting curious looks from passerby as they did so), and after a few hours, they did spot Shale and the others in the crowd.

“Surana!” Leliana stood on her tiptoes and waved. She hardly needed to, as she was much taller than the dwarves, but she did so out of habit.

Kitranna looked up, and smiled when she saw them. They met each other in the street, then moved to a small tavern, to get out of the flow of traffic and somewhere with a bit more privacy.

“Did you have any trouble getting back?” Kitranna asked.

Leliana shook her head. “No—what about you? How have you been here?” she looked over the group. “Where is Zevran?”

“He's on an errand,” Fiona said.

“On his own?” Leliana looked dubious. 

“Yeah,” Kitranna said, waving away Leliana's concerns. “It doesn't matter right this second. What did you find?”

Leliana brushed a strand of red hair out of her eyes. Out of her pack she pulled a sheaf of battered parchment. “The Urn is real enough that someone was killing people who searched for it,” she said, handing the parchment to Kitranna. “I do not know if Brother Genitivi is dead or alive, but someone was at his house, warning other searchers away.”

“That doesn't sound good,” Alistair said, peering over Kitranna's shoulder to look at the parchment.

“Doesn't that mean that there's some truth to the myth?” Jowan said. “If people are willing to kill to keep others off the trail—”

Fiona nodded. “That is almost certainly what it means,” she said, mouth pressed into a hard line. 

“While we have been here, surely the people who wish to defend the Urn will have gathered their strength,” Leliana said. “Is there no way we can move now...?”

Kitranna shook her head. “No, we've got to resolve this problem with the throne,” she said. “Orzammar can't give us any allies until they have a monarch, and they're split over who gets to be King.”

“We're trying to fix that problem now,” Alistair said. “That's what Zevran's doing, actually.”

“My errand is finished, as a matter of fact,” Zevran interjected suddenly and they all looked up at him, startled. No one had heard him come up behind them. “I see two of the members of our fair party have returned,” he said. “Your own errand went well, Leliana?”

“Did you give those documents to Lady Dace and Lord Helmi?” Kitranna asked.

Zevran inclined his head. “And they were either accurate or very good forgeries. The Lord and Lady accepted them—Lady Dace was quite upset, but Lord Helmi appears to have grown tired of political games. Nevertheless, the goal is accomplished.”

“Well, there's that done,” Kitranna said. “So...I suppose we go back to Vartag and then see Bhelen, right?”

Fiona rubbed her forehead. “Yes, and then we need to perform some more political maneuvering in order to put him as King.”

Leliana sighed. “Reminds me of Orlais—are you certain this is the only way to get an Orzammar alliance?”

“They refuse to ally unless there's a monarch present,” Fiona said. 

“Doesn't seem like a really effective system,” Jowan pointed out. “Couldn't they just put the Assembly in charge?”

“Wouldn't that just end up having the same problem as this, just all the time?” Alistair said as they all got up and left the tavern to head to the Assembly.

“I suppose...” Jowan said. “But It just seems like there's a better way we could be doing this, especially with the darkspawn and everything.”

“There probably is,” Kitranna said. “But we don't exactly have the time to work it out.”

They located Vartag in the Assembly, and he was surprised that they had accomplished what he had set out for them. 

“You certainly come through with promises,” Vartag said with a smirk. “Lady Dace is on a tear. She's been telling everyone what a leech and a liar Harrowmont is.”

“Can we meet with Bhelen now?” Kitranna asked. “We still need to deal with this Blight problem, and none of this is getting it done any faster.”

Bhelen resided in the Royal palace, behind several layers of guards and heavily locked doors. Despite the protection of the building, he wore full armor and had a sword and shield slung over his back. He was blond and young, his beard tied in several intricate braids.

“I am impressed, Warden,” he said, looking over Kitranna and her group. “Not many outsiders so quickly grasp Orzammar's rather...convoluted politics.”

Zevran and Leliana exchanged a sidelong glance, but both bore an expression of polite interest, unlike Morrigan, who couldn't stop herself from smirking. 

“I am Prince Bhelen. Vartag told me of your efforts against the usurper who tried to claim my father's throne.”

“We want this political crisis dealt with as quickly as possible,” Kitranna said. “And getting you on the throne seems like the way to do that.”

Bhelen nodded. “You need help from Orzammar.”

“We really do. You'd keep your treaty with the Wardens?”

“Absolutely. I swear on the mail of my ancestors, as soon as Orzammar is united under my rule. Unfortunately, while this debate rages, I have no power to send the troops you need.”

Kitranna restrained herself from rolling her eyes. “What can we do to get you on the throne?”

Bhelen began to pace. “You have struck a blow against Harrowmont, true, but there is another faction at play here. Have you heard of a woman named Jarvia and the cartel of criminals she runs?”

“No. What about her?”

“She takes advantage of the current chaos to further her criminal power. She is secretive, and only the most current leader of a group that has plagued Orzammar for years. The guards have no time for them, and it has made them bold. If I show the city I can eliminate such a threat, well...let's just say my position would be stronger.”

“So you want us to take care of her?” Kitranna glanced at her companions. Fiona was frowning, and Jowan looked pale. Wynne radiated disapproval. “Why us?”

“She stays mostly in Dust Town, below the city, in some sort of hideout we haven't located yet. Only Casteless live in Dust Town, and they are too scared to cooperate with the guard—if things were different, perhaps it would have been easier to deal with her. As it is, with the way things are now, her own position is strong. However, if you were to go to Dust Town, the Casteless wouldn't be afraid of you, and you may have better luck finding her.”

Kitranna folded her arms. “If I do this for you, you need to hold up your end.”

“If you do this for me, I promise, I will send as many troops as you need to fight the Darkspawn.”

“Hang on a moment,” Kitranna said. “We need to talk this over.” she jerked her head towards her companions. 

“Are you certain this is the candidate we should be supporting?” Wynne said, the moment Bhelen was out of earshot. 

“We don't have much of a choice,” Kitranna said. “Not at this point, anyway.”

“This takes far too long,” Morrigan said. “We cannot waste time here.”

“I agree,” Fiona said. “But we also can't possibly fight a Blight without Orzammar. As it is, we have the Dalish, a Circle at half strength, and all the nobles Bann Teagan can muster—which isn't many, after Ostagar. Orzammar is the only place that still has any troops left.”

“Are you certain you could not call upon Orlais?” Leliana asked. “There are Wardens there--”

“Bann Teagan would never agree to that,” Alistair said. “And even if he would, half the nobles in Denerim wouldn't—it would just give Loghain more fodder for his side.”

“Anyway, do you really think we could not only get a messenger to Orlais, but have enough troops to come in through the mountains to be of any real use?” Fiona asked. “You have been through the mountains—and this time of year, it will be even worse. That is unless they wanted to go through the Deep Roads, which would be an even worse idea. Any other country is out of the question—Antiva, the Marches and Rivain are across oceans, and Weisshaupt is months away. It has to be Orzammar.” 

Leliana sighed and closed her eyes. “It is simply—the darkspawn are already coming up from the Wilds. They are spreading faster than we are prepared for. Even with the history between Ferelden and Orlais, Orlais would be willing to send troops and mages to help.”

“We'll be more prepared once we have Orzammar troops,” Kitranna insisted. “And this is the best way to do it.”

“At the moment, yes,” Zevran interjected. “Unless another opportunity presents itself, this is the best way to go about things.”

“So we must do this,” Leliana said. 

“Do we really have to go and take down a crime boss?” Jowan said with a grimace. “I mean—this isn't a little thing he's asking us to do, is it?”

They all looked at him. He looked back.

“Well, it isn't, is it?” he folded his arms. 

“We are already attempting the impossible, what is a bit more on top of everything?' Zevran said with an airy wave of his hand. 

Kitranna nodded. “We'll do it,” she said firmly, and she looked back at Bhelen. “Where is the woman's base?” she asked. “We'll find her and fix your problem.”

Bhelen smiled. He informed them where the guards thought her hideout was, in Dust Town, but sadly they didn't know anything specific. They left the Royal Palace to head to an inn, to regroup and figure out their plan. 

They didn't know anything about Dust Town, only that it was where the Casteless lived. Vartag gave them the maps he had of the place and where they suspected Jarvia's hideout to be, and they planned accordingly. They couldn't take everyone—it would look far too suspicious for their entire group to be there. In any case, Jowan wasn't the best of fighters and Shale was too conspicuous. 

Kitranna settled on taking Leliana, Zevran, Alistair and Morrigan with her, leaving Jowan, Fiona, Wynne and Shale behind. Leliana and Zevran were the best at subterfuge, Morrigan was the most destructive mage, and Alistair was a warrior, like Shale, but unlike Shale, he wouldn't draw too much undue attention. 

So, they set off for Dust Town. 

It was in the lower parts of the city, on the way to Dust Town, where they were waylaid by a redheaded dwarrowdam who flagged them down in the street.

“What's the problem?” Kitranna asked. The woman had sounded urgent enough that they had stopped. 

“You're the Warden, right?” she said. “Are you a mage?” she eyed the staff on Kitranna's back.

“...yeah...” Kitranna said. “Why?”

“I've never met an actual mage!” the dwarrowdam bounced on the balls of her feet. “I'd been hoping you knew about the Circle of Magi, but--”

“Why do you want to know about that place?” Kitranna asked, blinking. “You're a dwarf.”

“I've been trying to reach someone there for years,” she said. “I want to see if they would accept me for spells—I can't do magic, of course, but I don't see why I shouldn't study it!”

“If you wish to study magic, you would hardly be able to do that in the Circle,” Morrigan drawled. 

“That's actually true,” Kitranna said, nodding.

“What?” the dwarrowdam sounded stricken.

“I mean—the Circle isn't actually a great place to learn magic, if you're not a mage,” Kitranna admitted, rubbing the back of her head. “I've never met a non-mage who was there to study magical theory.”

“I am certain many scholars would study it if they could,” Morrigan said. “But the Circle and the Chantry both discourage such learning.”

Alistair nodded. “They do, actually—I remember, in the Templars, it was all 'here's how to stop any and all magic,' and less knowing how it actually worked.”

The dwarrowdam looked crestfallen, her enthusiastic posture wilting. 

“Maybe the Dalish or the Chasind could help you,” Kitranna said hastily. 

“Oh—Orzammar's had some relations with the Dalish!” the redhead's eyes lit up. “Hundreds of years ago, sure but—well, I don't know. Do you know them?”

“This is not exactly the most opportune time for this conversation,” Zevran said. “Do we not have a task to accomplish...?”

“Oh, right,” Kitranna said.

“Oh, I'm sorry—I didn't mean to interrupt!” the dwarf exclaimed, worried. 

“It's fine,” Kitranna said. “Listen—tell me your name, and I can find you again when I'm not so busy.”

“You'd do that?”

“Sure.”

“I'm Dagna—Dagna of the Smith Caste.”

“Alright. I'm Warden Kitranna Surana.” she informed Dagna the name of the inn she was staying at, and they agreed to try and meet again in a day or two, provided things did not become too hectic.

“It seems you acquire allies simply by walking about,” Morrigan pointed out as they walked away. 

Kitranna shrugged. “I suppose I just have one of those friendly faces.” 

Dust Town was old. They descended down into it, and the streets grew narrower, the buildings older and more broken. There were no guards here, nor any merchants. The dwarves here had brands on their faces and averted their eyes when looked at. Most people were armed, even the beggars with a crude truncheon or knife at their side. 

Bhelen may have thought Kitranna and her group would have an easier time of talking to the Casteless, but he'd been wrong. The dwarves here were just about as tight-lipped to Kitranna and her companions as they would be to guards. After over an hour of fruitless questioning—even money didn't get them very far—they stopped in an area that could be considered a sort of town square.

Dust Town had its own shops and merchants, and one or two of them had set up shop in this square, amid the beggars and thugs. They stopped by a firepit burning in the middle of the square, beside which a beggar or two lurked. 

“Is there a better way to do this?” Kitranna asked, running a hand over her head.

“They do not trust outsiders any more than they trust the guards,” Leliana said, looking over the square with a sad expression. “It is like this in Alienages, also.”

“Alienages are unpleasant, but not so bad as this,” Zevran corrected. “At least in an Alienage, Surana or I would have better luck. Or Morrigan, even.”

They did, however, eventually find someone who told them what they needed to know. A dwarrodam who had been in Jarvia's gang until a fight had ruined one of her legs, she had no love or fear for the gang leader. Provided some coin, she pointed them in the right direction.

They spent some more time in Dust Town searching, as per the woman's instructions, but eventually, what they needed came to them. Apparently some Carta thugs didn't take very kindly to them asking questions, and there was a brief skirmish in a forgotten corner of the town. 

The Carta was quickly dealt with, and one of them remained alive, whole enough to surrender. He gave them a token to Jarvia's place, and told them where to find a door. They did so, and entered the tunnels.

Jarvia's hideout was a massive system of ancient caves and underground ruins, looking even older than Dust Town. The whole of Orzammar must have been built on the bones of the cities that came before it. There was no way past the Carta members; some of them surrendered, but most of them were dispatched via blade or spell. 

“This Jarvia inspires such loyalty,” Zevran said at one point, tugging his blade out of the chest of a fallen dwarf.

“I do not think it is loyalty,” Leliana said quietly. “I think they simply have no where else to turn.”

“Also entirely possible.”

Jarvia's hideout had many items that were of use to them—supplies, armor, weapons, potions. Kitranna supposed that if one were in charge of the black market, one could get many things. 

Eventually, they came to a makeshift prison. After dispatching the guards, Kitranna turned her attention to the two prisoners in the cells, one a dwarf man with long hair, and the other a dwarrowdam whose face was turned away so they couldn't see her. 

“Please, stranger, let us out,” said one of the prisoners, leaning up against the bars of his cell. “I see you have no love for Jarvia, so help us. You see my friend...” he glanced over to the other cell, where the other prisoner was slumped against the wall, her back to them.

“Sure,” Kitranna said, fetching the jail key off the body of one of the guards and unlocking the doors. 

The livelier of the two dwarves immediately hurried out of his cell. “Thank you,” he said, and went over to the other dwarf. “Come on,” he said, taking her hands and trying to pull her to her feet. “You idiot, I told you not to piss her off--”

Now that she looked, Kitranna could see that the dwarrowdam's face was badly bruised, and she was unsteady on her feet.

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” the dwarrowdam leaned heavily on the other dwarf. She attempted a smile, though it looked painful. She looked at Kitranna. “Thank you,” she said. “I'm Raen Brosca, and this is Leske.”

“Raen--!” Leske protested. 

“She just saved us,” Raen said. “She ought to know our names.”

“Oh—well, I'm Kitranna Surana,” Kitranna said. “This is Alistair Theirin, Leliana, Zevran Arainai, and Morrigan.” she gestured at her companions.

“Don't see many of—well, any of you down here,” Raen said. “What are you doing here?”

“We don't really like Jarvia very much,” Kitranna said with a shrug.

Raen laughed, then winced and held her side. 

“We need to get out of here,” Leske said, looking worriedly at his friend.

“I have a poultice I can spare,” Leliana said, moving forward with an elfroot poultice. “It should help--”

Raen waved her off. “No—no, thank you, salroka,” she said with another half-smile. “I'm just fine.”

“Stubborn woman...” Leske muttered, accepting the poultice from Leliana himself. 

“We need to move on,” Morrigan siad. 

Kitranna nodded. “Could either of you point us to where Jarvia is?” she asked the pair. “We really are here to get rid of her.”

“Down the tunnel,” Raen said, pointing. “She might come to you, actually—I mean it looks like you've definitely taken out enough of her men that she'd be mad about it.”

“Probably,” Kitranna said. “But we still need to find her.”

“Will you two be alright?” Leliana asked.

“Where did you come in from?” Raen asked, and Leliana gestured in the correct direction. “And everyone down that way is already taken care of?”

“They are.”

“Then yes, if we go that way, we'll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Leliana pursed her lips, eying Raen and Leske's hollow cheeks and the bruise on Raen's face.

Raen smiled. “Yes, I'm sure. Thank you again.”

“Come on,” Kitranna said. They left Raen and Leske to return to Dust Town, and pushed forward.

They found Jarvia deep in the pits of her lair, beyond many traps and guards and even more twisting tunnels. She tossed her head when she saw them, her expression contemptuous. 

“So, Bhelen finally realized we're taking the city, yet he still can't be bothered to send his own men.”

“I like to think we're performing a valuable service,” Kitranna said.

“Hm. Well, you picked the wrong side, stranger.” she drew her weapons. “It doesn't matter who's king, as long as there's a queen!”

“Well, conceivably, there could be _both_ a king and a queen,” Zevran said conversationally.

“Or just a queen,” Alistair pointed out.

“We do not have to fight,” Leliana said. 

“Sure we do,” Kitranna said, drawing her staff. “Unless she—I don't know—pledges her loyalty to the Gray Wardens?”

Jarvia narrowed her eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“See?”

“Wait--” Leliana said, putting her hand on Kitranna's arm. “Perhaps they could help us, instead of us combating each other.”

“You'd have to have a lot of coin for that to work out, stranger,” Jarvia said. “And last I checked, Wardens were just above Legion of the Dead in terms of coin. That is to say, not much.”

“Don't you care that an Archdemon has risen?” Leliana asked.

Jarvia shrugged. “Surfacer problems.”

“Always knew you were stupid, Jarvia,” came a new voice, and they looked round to see Raen and Leske in the doorway. “But this really goes beyond just _stupid_ , doesn't it?” Raen held a pair of stolen shortswords in her hands. 

“What are you doing here?” Jarvia snapped. “Never mind—kill them,” she snapped at her subordinates. “Should have killed those two ages ago...”

“Wait!” Leliana insisted again, but no one waited. The fight began in earnest. Raen and Leske, though wounded and starving, weren't half bad with their weapons, which was good because Morrigan and Kitranna's spells weren't as effective against Jarvia and the other dwarves as they were against surfacers. 

Jarvia's guard was down and the woman herself was on one knee, when Raen approached her and stabbed her in the chest with her blade.

Jarvia fell, quite dead, and Raen nodded, satisfied.

“Well,” Raen said. “There's that taken care of.” she pulled her sword out of Jarvia's body and turned to Kitranna. “What was that about an Archdemon?”

“...what are you doing here?” Kitranna asked, glancing at her, then at Jarvia's body on the ground.

Raen shrugged. “You helped us. I thought we should help you. Ooh...” she leaned heavily against a nearby stone pillar. “Bad idea. But you got Jarvia, yes?” with her sword, she gestured at Jarvia's body. “Got what you came here for.”

Leske came to try and give Raen some support, but he was shaking so badly he wasn't much help. Leliana walked over and handed them an elfroot potion to share. 

“We did...” Kitranna said slowly, turning Jarvia's body over so she could get a good look at her face.

“I assume we are to return to Bhelen and inform him of what we have accomplished,” Morrigan said.

Kitranna nodded.

“Do either of you wish to come with us?” Leliana asked Raen and Leske.

Raen shook her head. “I need to see my sister,” she said. “Make sure she's alright...” she bit her lip. 

“I will go with you,” Leliana determined.

“Leliana!” Kitranna said. “We have somewhere else to be...?”

“Sounds important,” Raen agreed.

“I can hardly let you both go alone in this state,” Leliana said. “It will take no time at all,” she assured Kitranna. “I will meet you back at the Palace.”

Kitranna sighed. “If you're sure...”

“I am quite certain.”

“You really don't have to--” Raen protested. 

“But I should,” Leliana told her. 

So, they left the tunnels (emerging through a secret door in a shopkeeper's store, much to the poor man's horror), and Leliana, Raen and Leske went to Dust Town to see Raen's sister. Kitranna, Morrigan, Alistair and Zevran went to meet up with the rest of their party, then go back to the Palace.


	14. Murklins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like to think that zev and leliana, as well as any other rogues, has improbably catlike tread

“Well, you've simply outdone yourself.” Bhelen was quite pleased at their work—one might even say smug. “They're talking all over the city about how someone finally went through Dust Town and slaughtered the Carta like gemlocks.”

“It wasn't really like that,” Kitranna protested. “I mean, I guess, but...”

“Most of them had no choice, I am sure,” Fiona said, with a glare aimed at no one in particular. “They could hardly help how they were born.”

Kitranna nodded. “Now—we helped you. Will you help us?”

“As soon as I take the throne, I promise I will get you the troops you need.”

Kitranna's lip curled. “And when will you take the throne?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot say when. While many deshyrs appreciate my ending Jarvia's threat, Harromont still holds great loyalty.”

Kitranna closed her eyes. “What else can I do? We can't be in this stalemate forever—the Wardens need your army.”

“There is...one last thing, which may force the Assembly's hand, in my favor,” Bhelen said. “Something dramatic, to shift the balance.”

“Like what?” Kitranna folded her arms.

“What do you know of the Paragon Branka?”

Kitranna paused. “I've heard her name a few times,” she said. 

“The only living Paragon you've had in many years, is she not?” Wynne said, and everyone glanced at her. “I had some time while you were dealing with the Carta,” she said. “That's what the Shaperate told me.”

Bhelen nodded. “And she's missing. Two years ago, she heard of something the Ancients created. It inspired her to leave everything behind and venture into the Deep Roads.” he shook his head. “She's the only Paragon in four generations, and she turned her back on her responsibilities. But a Paragon is like an ancestor born in this time; if she returned, her vote would outweigh the entire Assembly. Anyone with her support could take the throne unchallenged.”

“She's been in the Deep Roads for two years?” Fiona said. “How are you so sure she's even alive?”

“She's a _Paragon_ ,” Bhelen said. “And this was no Warden suicide mission—she took her entire House with her, quite literally she had years of supplies.”

Fiona scowled at the phrase 'Warden suicide mission' but made no other comment.

“Why are you so certain she'd support you?” Kitranna asked. “Does she even know you?”

“I was hoping you could convince her,” Bhelen said. “Persuade her that the rightful king should be on the throne.”

“What's to stop her taking the throne herself?”

“If she wanted the throne, she would have taken it already,” Bhelen said. “She didn't want it, so she didn't take it.”

“What if we can't find her?”

Bhelen tilted his head to one side. “Consider this; if the Deep Roads have...addled her wits, it may be best that she not return before the vote is decided.”

“...and...?”

“And even the phantom support of a Paragon is better than none at all.”

Kitranna glanced around at her companions, who all looked dubious.

“We need to talk about this,” she told Bhelen, and he left them alone.

“This is ridiculous,” Morrigan said. “We could spend months in the Deep Roads, if we even survive the journey.”

“I agree,” Fiona said. “There is a very good reason they are abandoned.”

“We have already swayed many people to Bhelen's side,” Wynne pointed out. “Is this really necessary?”

“As deep as we are into this, it is likely that yes, it is entirely necessary,” Zevran said. “We need not even search the Deep Roads for her—perhaps we spend some time there, say that we have found her, and say that she supports Bhelen. If no one else has found her in all this time, she can hardly contradict us.”

“But why is it necessary?” Wynne asked.

“Yes—this seems even more dangerous than what you usually do,” Jowan said. 

“We are already involved,” Zevran said. “And swaying public opinion is a very delicate and dangerous business. There is a chance that Harrowmont will take the throne even with the support Bhelen has—which is likely, considering they are both second choices to someone else. We must do everything possible to ensure Bhelen's success.”

“Should we be making this decision without Leliana?” Wynne asked. “Where is she?”

“I am here,” Leliana said, and everyone except for Zevran jumped, not realizing she had come up behind them.

“How did you get here so fast?” Kitranna asked.

“Raen's sister was not in her home. As it turns out, she moved here—she is actually the woman who bore Bhelen a son.”

“Is she now?” Zevran said in surprise. “Fascinating.”

“So, I brought Raen here, so she could meet with her sister. Now, what is it that we are doing?”

“Attempting a Deep Roads expedition,” Zevran explained. “We are to either retrieve the Paragon Branka or say that we have done so, in order to gain her support for Bhelen's kingship.”

Leliana's face fell. “What we have already done is not enough?”

“Perhaps. But there is also the chance that no, it is not.”

Leliana sighed. “Then we should do it.”

“Alright,” Kitranna said. “I suppose we'll tell Bhelen we're going to the Deep Roads, see if he has any leads.”

As it turned out, Bhelen did have one singular lead. Branka's husband, Oghren. The man was a drunk and a disgrace to the warrior caste, apparently, but being Branka's husband meant that he was the most likely out of everyone else to know where she might be. So, they went to go find him.

On their way out of the Palace, they encountered Raen, talking with another dwarrowdam. The other woman had long red hair tied into braids at the back of her head, and she had lighter skin than Raen, but they shared the same nose.

“Oh—hello,” Raen said when she saw them, and waved. 

“You found your sister, I see,” Leliana said with a smile.

Raen beamed. “This is Rica,” she said. Rica gave a shy smile and a little wave of her own. “Rica, this is the Warden that got me and Leske out of Jarvia's prison,” she gestured at Kitranna, “And this is Leliana, who helped me and Leske get back to Dust Town.”

“It's very nice to meet you,” Rica said. 

“It's good to meet you as well,” Leliana said.

“What are you doing next?” Raen asked, putting a fist on her hip. “I heard you're working with Bhelen. You need an extra sword along?”

Kitranna raised her eyebrows. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I have no job.”

“You could stay here with me!” Rica assured her sister. “Bhelen wouldn't mind—if Mother gets to live here, I'm sure you could too!”

“That's probably a better idea,” Kitranna said. “We can't have too many people along—and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want to go down into the Deep Roads under the best of circumstances.”

“That's true...” Raen said, sounding a little doubtful.

“Come on,” Rica took Raen's hand. “Let's go find you a place to stay.”

“Alright,” Raen said. 

Oghren was a redheaded dwarven man, dressed in heavy armor. He smelled extremely strongly of ale and his speech was somewhat slurred, but his eyes were alert enough.

“So, you're the Warden who's setting out to search for Branka on the Prince's orders,” he said when Kitranna introduced herself.

“That's me,” Kitranna said. “Fiona and Alistair are Wardens, too, though.” she gestured to the two of them.

Oghren glanced at Fiona and Alistair, looking unimpressed. “Well, if you're the best they got, then standards must have fallen way down,” he snorted.

Fiona scowled. “Fine talk coming from a drunken lout such as yourself,” she snapped. “Can you even hold a weapon?”

Oghren raised his hands. “If you're what they sent, then that's that,” he said. “At least someone's lookin' for Branka, 'sides me.”

“Bhelen seemed pretty intent that she be found,” Kitranna said. “He hasn't sent anyone else?”

Oghren shook his head. “I'm the only one still bothering. And I'm the only one who knows what she was lookin' for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her.”

“A little, yeah,” Kitranna said. “Why haven't you looked for her yourself?”

“Believe me, I have,” Oghren said with a sigh. “But where she was going, it's a lost Thaig. No one's been there in centuries. I searched as far as I could, but...it would take teams of warriors searching for weeks on end to cover enough ground to hope to find it—but, I assume that's exactly what Bhelen's scouts have done?”

“Well...yeah...” Kitranna said. “They did give us a pretty detailed map, but since they haven't found Branka, we're right back where we started.”

“It's not enough that they didn't know what she was looking for,” he said.

“Why did you not tell the prince yourself?” Morrigan said. 

“Like he'd ever listen to a thing I say,” Oghren said dismissively. “Anyway, he just wants her for his political shit. I actually want to find her. Anyway, if we pool our knowledge, we have a solid chance at finding Branka. Otherwise, good sodding luck.”

“Sure,” Kitranna said. “Anything to get this done faster.”

The party they were taking to the Deep Roads would need to be small, and they couldn't take everyone. Jowan and Alistair at least would need to stay behind. Jowan because he had little to no fighting experience. Alistair would have to stay so that in case something happened to Kitranna, there would still be at least one Warden capable of killing the Archdemon in Ferelden. Fiona decided to stay behind as well, as she had already had enough of the Deep Roads to last several lifetimes. 

After some more debating, they finally came to a conclusion. The Deep Roads party was comprised of Kitranna, Morrigan, Wynne, Zevran, Shale, and Oghren.

Oghren came with them so they could better plan out their expedition. Branka was searching for a dwarven artifact called the Anvil of the Void, which held the secret to building golems. The Anvil had been created by another Paragon, a smith named Caridin, and with it, Orzammar had a hundred years of peace, with the golems protecting the walls. 

As far as anyone knew, the Anvil had been built in Ortan Thaig, and Branka had decided that in order to find it, she would have to start there. All she knew was that it was past Caridin's Cross, a place which hadn't so much as been seen for five hundred years. The maps of the Deep Roads that Kitranna had been given were quite accurate, however, a combination of Legion of the Dead cartogaphy and the work of Bhelen's own scouts. 

After acquiring sufficient supplies, they all set off into the Deep Roads.

The Deep Roads were utterly enormous. Not nearly as hot as Orzammar was, but still warm, lit with ancient Lyrium lamps and lava floes trapped behind crystal walls that were feet thick. 

They walked a quite literal road for some time, which had held up remarkably well, even after centuries of disuse. The roads were carved much more intricately than even the Diamond Quarter in Orzammar, every single piece clearly having been made by a master of the craft. 

The Roads, for all they looked quite magnificent, all things considered, smelled foul. There was a stench of rot and filth that was more pervasive the further they went, and the smell of ozone and Lyrium underscored everything. Eventually, the road they traveled came to a dead end where a cave-in had blocked it off, and they were forced to take a detour. They went through a tunnel that was much less intricately carved than the road had been, and infested with Deepstalkers, but still took them on their way.

Finally they came to an enormous, abandoned Thaig. Though left alone by the dwarves, it was riddled with Darkspawn. They dispatched the Darkspawn and decided to camp in the thaig for at least a few hours. There was no day or night underground,but they were all exhausted, and it felt as if it must be night on the surface. 

When everyone else was asleep, Morrigan and Kitranna were by themselves. Neither of them was as tired as the others, so they had stayed up to watch for any danger.

“Does this make you think of the Wilds?” Kitranna asked Morrigan, as they sat by the embers of the fire. 

Morrigan glanced at her. She had wrapped herself in a blanket, and leaned back against a fallen pillar. “Why would you think such a thing?”

Kitranna shrugged. “We're in the middle of nowhere surrounded by Darkspawn.”

“The Wilds are forest and swamp, not stone. No, this is nothing like them.”

“Was it lonely out there?” Kitranna asked. “It's lonely here.”

“We are with several companions.” Morrigan glanced over at the others. “How is it lonely in any way?”

“Well, we're camping in an abandoned Thaig, so that has something to do with it.” she looked around at all the empty buildings. The only sign of life was their own little camp, and the occasional movement of a far-off deepstalker, spider or nug. 

“Perhaps the Wilds were lonely, at times,” Morrigan admitted, tugging her blanket closer. “A world full of people and buildings and things is still very foreign to me, even now. When I wanted for companionship in the Wilds, I ran with the wolves and flew with the birds. If I spoke, 'twas to the trees.”

“Did they talk back?”

Morrigan chuckled. “Hardly. There are no sylvanwoods in the Wilds the way there are in the Brecelian.”

“You left, though. So it can't have been that great.”

Morrigan smiled. “Such simple pleasures will only enthrall for so long. I recall the first time I crept beyond the edge of the Wilds. I did so in animal form, remaining in the shadows and watching these strange townsfolk from afar. I happened upon a noblewoman by her carriage, adorned in sparkling garments the likes of which I had never seen. I was dazzled. This, to me, seemed what true wealth and beauty must be.”

“You think differently now?”

“Oh, yes. You see—I stole a hand mirror from her carriage. 'twas encrusted in gold and crystalline gemstones and I positively hugged it to my chest with delight as I took it back to the Wilds. But Flemeth was furious with me. I was a child and had not yet come into my full power, and had risked discovery for the sake of a pretty bauble. To teach me a lesson, Flemeth took the mirror and smashed it upon the ground. I was heartbroken.”

Kitranna's mouth twisted. “That's awful.”

Morrigan shook her head. “Flemeth was right to break me of my fascination. Beauty and love are fleeting and have no meaning. Survival has meaning. Power has meaning. Without those lessons I would not be here today, as difficult as they may have been. I suspect you learned similar lessons.”

“Oh yeah?” Kitranna leaned her head on her hand. “Maybe a bit. I don't think I'd put it in those exact words though.”

“Then how would you describe it?”

“Get them before they get you,” Kitranna said with a smirk.

“Ah,” Morrigan nodded. “Also a valuable lesson.”

“Exactly right.”

They rested there for some time, but then they had to move on, deeper into the Roads. Everyone was tense and a bit jumpy, especially when Kitranna started to feel more and more Darkspawn, the number and strength growing the further they went. 

The Roads were empty of any other dwarves. The Legion of the Dead didn't bother with sticking so close to Orzammar, and there were no other expeditions whose paths they might cross. The hundreds of feet of rock overhead got disorientating at times—it was worst for Morrigan, though she was loathe to admit it. Having spent most of her life in the wilderness she wasn't very used to cities, much less being so deep underground. She occasionally had spells of vertigo and as time went on, she started shapeshifting more and more frequently, usually changing into a spider rather than a bear or a bird. She startled the members of their party when she turned into a giant spider the first few times.

Shale occasionally made comments about some of the Thaigs they came across—apparently they had vague memories of some of them, just scraps of knowledge that proved more interesting than entirely useful. 

The Veil was thick in the Deep Roads, far more healthy than it was just about anywhere on the Surface. It still had some damage to it in places, but nothing like the Brecelian or the Circle, and certainly not like Redcliffe.

“Isn't there any place where the Veil isn't warped or worn?” Wynne asked at one point, sighing heavily. “It is as if it is falling apart no matter where we go—and no one lives here who could possibly influence it!”

They came to Caridin's cross after many days of travel, or at least what felt like many days. 

“I can't believe Bhelen actually tracked this place down.” Oghren said as they walked down the road to the Thaig. “This used to be one of the biggest crossroads of the old Empire—you could get just about anywhere from here, including Ortan Thaig.”

“What's so important about Ortan Thaig?” Kitranna asked. “Did she go that way?”

Oghren nodded. “Had a feeling she was headed that way—when I saw the maps, I was sure.”

“Why didn't you tell us earlier?”

“Wasn't sure 'till just now,” he admitted. He looked around them, at the walls and buildings. “I can see her all over this place—and the direction she went, was towards Ortan Thaig.”

“What do you mean, you can see her?” Kitranna followed his gaze, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

“Well, no one else would've been here,” he said, and explained all the specific traces Branka would leave behind on an expedition. They got through Caridin's Cross, which was positively enormous and labyrinthine, even for a major trading post, and on the other side they came to the road that lead to Ortan Thaig.

They realized someone was following them a few hours after they had left Caridin's Cross. 

Someone shadowed them, at a distance but still quite clearly following their footsteps. Zevran made mention of it, but they made the decision to keep going, at least for a little bit, as Kitranna didn't sense any darkspawn. They wanted to try and get a handle on the person shadowing them before they confronted them about it. 

The person following them was clumsy enough to be noticed but adept enough not to be seen for more than an instant; periodically there was the sound of someone stepping on something but nothing conclusive to give away what armor they may have been wearing. 

After about another hour, Zevran got sick of waiting and apprehended their follower. She was a dwarrowdam dressed in rags, with long dark hair that hung over her face and hollow cheeks. She gave Zevran a fight but she was so thin and wasted that he managed to overpower her. 

“Why are you following us?” Kitranna demanded of the woman, who stared at them, her eyes bright and wary as a sullen scowl twisted her lips. 

“Wanted to know where you'd go,” she muttered. Her throat sounded dry and her voice rusty, as if she had not used it in a very long time. “Don't see many elves or humans down here. Thought that was funny.”

“What are you even doing down here?”

“She's probably an exile,” Oghren said, and the woman flinched. “A criminal or somethin'. Maybe just pissed off the wrong noble. It's a little hard to tell.” he peered closer at the other dwarf, looking past her curtain of hair. “I know you!” Oghren exclaimed. 

The woman wrinkled her nose. “I'm sure you don't.”

“You're the Aeducan girl—Bhelen's sister!”

“The princess?” Kitranna said, staring hard at the dishevelled woman. 

“Is that all I am?” the woman sighed. “Bhelen's sister?”

“That depends on whether or not you really are she,” Zevran pointed out.

“Does it matter at this point?” she scowled up at Zevran, who hadn't released his hold on her. 

“It may.”

“Why?”

“Well, we're here because of Bhelen,” Kitranna explained. The woman's back stiffened.

“Why?” she snapped again. 

“He is trying to assume the throne,” Zevran said. “He needs the word of a Paragon to secure his position, and that is what we are trying to get.”

“Why is he taking the throne?” Culwydd demanded. “Did something happen to my father?”

The party fell silent for a moment. 

“...oh.” Culwydd hung her head lower, so they couldn't see her eyes through her hair. “Oh.”

“Apparently, 'twas grief that killed him,” Morrigan said, and Wynne glared at her. “What?” she snapped. “It is true. That is the tale they told, at any rate.”

“You have no tact whatsoever, do you?” Wynne said with a disapproving look.

“It is not as if I can hide the truth from her,” Morrigan said, folding her arms. 

“It's fine,” Culwydd said. “I appreciate you telling me.” she lifted her head and rubbed her eyes. “So, what is it you hope to find in the Roads? The word of a Paragon?” she hummed. “Oh—you must be looking for Branka.”

“You seen her?” Oghren asked hopefully.

“No, of course not,” the woman rolled her eyes. “Why should I have?”

“How have you survived here, all this time?” Zevran asked. 

She snorted. “How do you think the Legion survives here? It's possible, if you're smart enough.”

“You could go back, you know,” Zevran pointed out. “The Assembly clearly favored you and your elder brother over Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont.”

“Harrowmont's opposing Bhelen?” Culwydd said, raising her eyebrows. “Oh, wonderful. I bet the city's just about in riots over that.”

“A little bit,” Kitranna said with a wince.

“All the more reason you should come back to the city with us,” Zevran said. “It would make our work a great deal easier—and we would not have to go searching for that Paragon if we already have you.”

“Hey!” Oghren snapped. “You said we're finding Branka, so we're finding Branka!”

“Why would you want to find her?” Culwydd asked. “The way I heard it, she left you for being a drunken excuse for a warrior.” she smirked. “Apparently you drove her to find comfort in the arms of her smith friends. Her _female_ friends--”

“Alright!” Kitranna held up her hands. “We didn't come here to gossip, hilarious though that gossip may be.” Oghren growled at that.

“You should be on your way, if you want to catch her,' Culwydd said.

“You have not answered the question,” Zevran said. “Do you wish to come with us? We could simply return to Orzammar and--”

“No!” Culwydd snapped. “No—no, I won't do that.”

“Why not?”

“No,” Culwydd shook her head. “No, I deserve this.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Deserve what?” Kitranna asked. 

Oghren rolled his eyes. “She's sayin' she deserves to get thrown in the Deep Roads,” he snapped. “Why in the name of every last sodding Paragon would you think that?”

Culwydd glared at them. “I didn't save Trian!” Culwydd burst out. “I let Bhelen kill him! This is my fault!”

“I don't follow,” Kitranna said. 

“It's my fault Trian's dead!” Culwydd said.

“So you did kill him, then?” Oghren said. 

“No, you idiot!” Culwydd jerked her head up and scowled at Oghren. “Bhelen's damned thugs already killed him when I got there—I just didn't stop them! It's my fault!”

“That sounds to me like it was the fault of those who actually committed the act,” Wynne said quietly. “Not yours.”

Culwydd turned her back on them. “Let me be,” she said. “Go find your Paragon, if you can. Leave me out of it.”

“You would die down here, for something that is not even your doing?” Zevran asked.

“It is my doing,” Culwydd folded her arms. “Go. You have your errand to run for Bhelen.”

Zevran frowned, but Kitranna put a hand on his shoulder. 

“If that's what she wants, then that's what she wants,” Kitranna said with a shrug. 

They left Culwydd and moved on, to Ortan Thaig. The Thaig was an enormous, crumbling ruin, with the remains of once-massive statues and buildings so old they looked more like the caves they were hewn from. They found evidence that Branka had been there, but moved on.

They encountered another dwarf who scavenged in the Deep Roads, but unlike Culwydd, Ruck's mind was in tatters. Oghren suggested that he'd eaten of darkspawn flesh or some other tainted meat—the Legion and Culwydd would both know to avoid doing that, but a more common criminal wouldn't. 

By all rights, Ruck could have gone to the Legion of the Dead, as they accepted criminals, even murderers, but now he was sick with the Taint, his mind coming and going, and he didn't want to join them anyway. They left Ruck to his own devices, like they had Culwydd, even though both Zevran and Oghren thought perhaps a mercy killing was in order.

The place was swarming with spiders, the largest twice the size of Morrigan's spider shape. There were more of them than there were darkspawn. Fortunately, there was a trick to keeping away—leave some food out, and they tended not to bother travelers. 

This strategy failed when they encountered a massive, diseased spider queen, which, to Kitranna, fairly blazed with the Taint. The spider had evidently gotten a hold of some Tainted food, like Ruck had, and became large and aggressive after consuming it. It attacked them, and after a long and drawn out battle, they defeated it. 

They found Branka's journal far at the outermost reaches of the Thaig. Battered and worn but still legible, Kitranna flipped through it, Oghren peering around her shoulder. 

It said that Branka had found evidence that the Anvil was not built in Ortan Thaig, but somewhere beyond the Dead Trenches, beyond hordes of Darkspawn and deep into the oldest and most thoroughly abandoned reaches of the old dwarven empire. 

“My soldiers say I am mad, that the Dead Trenches are crawling with darkspawn,” the last entry read. “That we will surely die before we find the Anvil...if we find it. I leave this here in case they're right. If I die in the Trenches, perhaps someone can yet walk past my corpse and retrieve the Anvil. For if the Anvil remains lost, so do we all. If I have not yet returned and Oghren yet lives, then tell him...no. What I have to say should be for his ears alone. This is my farewell.”

Oghren grabbed the journal out of Kitranna's hands and stared intently at the last lines. “I...I knew she still cared,” he muttered, swiping at his eyes. “Old softy...” he raised his voice and slammed the journal closed. “Looks like the Dead Trenches is our next stop then.”

“What are the Dead Trenches?” Kitranna asked.

“They say that darkspawn nest there,” Oghren explained. “Whole armies of 'em.”

“Well, that sounds truly wonderful,” Morrigan drawled. “Must we really go there?” she asked Kitranna. “There is still time to abandon this endeavor and not become skewered on a darkspawn blade.”

“Warden..” Oghren growled.

“We'll go,” Kitranna said with a sigh. “I mean—we definitely have a proper lead now, and we've already come all this way.”

“If you wish,” Morrigan said, her expression clearly dubious.


	15. Mancation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Culwydd is pronounced KULL-with jsyk

The trek to the Dead Trenches was long, very long, and they came across more evidence of Branka's passing as they went. The Veil felt strange down there, strong, but...odd. Like it was different amidst the dwarven ruins. Everyone's sense of time was completely thrown off by this point, and everyone but Oghren had trouble sleeping and rising. 

Then they came to the Archdemon.

First, Kitranna felt an enormous mass of darkspawn, larger than any other group that she had felt before. It was like a pressure in the back of her head, the oncoming of a migraine, a taste like bile and dust in her mouth. The group came to a deep crevice in the ground, and looking over the edge, they saw the fires from hundreds of thousands of torches as an army of darkspawn marched through the pit, to some unseen exit from the tunnels. 

Then something swooped over their heads, ignoring them, and they all ducked—whatever it was blazed with the Taint and warped the Veil around it, bleeding magic as it went. 

It let out a deafening bellow, and they saw it was a dragon, but warped and twisted, its hide black as if it had been burned. It flew above the darkspawn army, spitting violet fire as it went. Its wings were ragged, and it was unsure how it could even lift itself from the ground. They could smell it as they passed, a smell of things rotten, things long dead, ozone and lyrium and blood.

They watched it wing out of the cavern they were in, and once it was gone, they all collectively let go of the breath they were holding. 

“We have to kill _that_ thing?” Kitranna exclaimed, and then looked down, into the pit. “And the whole army? How are we going to do that?”

“Perhaps we deal with one task at a time,” Morrigan suggested, putting a hand on Kitranna's shoulder and then quickly removing it.

Kitranna nodded, giving herself a shake. “Right. Right.”

They continued on, careful and quiet to avoid drawing the attention of the Horde. 

They met a Legion of the Dead contingent as they were fighting a group of darkspawn, presumably a contingent of the larger Horde that had broken off. They assisted the Legion them in killing them. 

“Atrast vala, Gray Warden,” said the Legion's leader when they finally finished off the last of the creatures. He had a brand on one cheek, marking him as casteless. He peered at her intently. “I've never seen one of your kind in the Deep Roads.” he looked over their group. “Most of you, actually.”

“What kind is that?” Kitranna asked. “An elf or a mage?”

“Either,” the dwarf said. “Why are you here?”

“Long story,” Kitranna admitted. “We're looking for Paragon Branka.”

“Who put this dull idea in your head?” he exclaimed. “We've got other things to worry about in Orzammar!”

“Well, it's not _my_ bureaucracy that's tying everything up,” Kitranna said, folding her arms. “The point is, we need to get to Branka. Otherwise I can't get Orzammar's armies—and that's a problem.”

He snorted. “Figured it was something like that. The lords just can't make up their minds, can they?”

“No, not really.”

He waved a hand. “You wanna go digging blind—that's your problem.”

“Have you seen any sign of her?”

“No—not that I was looking, really. More distracted by the giant dragon.”

Kitranna's heart fell. “You saw that too, huh?”

“Kind of hard to miss.”

“Yeah.” Kitranna rubbed the back of her head. 

He shook his head. “Normally, I wouldn't care—Blight's a surfacer problem, we have the darkspawn at our borders all the time. But that thing...” he frowned. 

“Bad news.”

“The worst.” he tilted his head back. “The surge on the surface should give us a break,” he said. “But that's just from the darkspawn.”

“Is there something worse?” she tilted her head to one side, confused.

“Things have been strange here,” he admitted. “Usually it's just fighting darkspawn, but lately there's been...” he trailed off and waved a hand. “Doesn't matter. Not my job to worry about ghosts and legends.”

“Ghosts?” Kitranna narrowed her eyes, and exchanged a look with her companions.

“There's always a ghost or two around,” he said. “There have to be. But it's been getting worse recently, and we've had people come back babbling about Rock-Wraiths--” he shook his head again.

“Rock-Wraiths?” Oghren exclaimed. 

“A couple people said they saw them--don't put much faith in it, but with everything going on...” he trailed off. He rubbed his forehead. “Look—if you really want to go and look for the Paragon, be careful. Things're weirder than usual.”

“Right.” Kitranna nodded. “I guess we'll head out, then.”

“Good luck, Gray Warden.”

They went ahead, across a massive pit by way of a huge stone bridge that had clearly once been beautiful, but time and darkspawn had worn it down to its barest formation. Across the bridge was an enormous door that they could not get through, but could get around. 

Everything was so _large_. The ceiling was so high that it was almost like being on the surface again, and the buildings, even the ruins of them, were more enormous than any building any of them had ever seen. The darkspawn infested everything, but even they were small in comparison to the massive ruins they inhabited.

They found a series of catacombs amidst the ruins, coffins that had been upended and desecrated by the darkspawn. Although the sarcophogi had been ruined, there were many still-functional traps, and they could only assume that the darkspawn had found a way to reset and reuse them against intruders.

Finally, the only space still open to them was a series of tunnels that were infested with darkspawn. They pushed ahead, as they found neither Branka, the Anvil, nor Branka's body. They encountered wave after wave of darkspawn, and managed to fight through all of them.

Eventually, they came across darkspawn encampments, but these ones had the peculiar...meaty features that the Circle had had when the demons took it over. That didn't bode well in the slightest.

Then, they heard the voice.

They were in a low tunnel, the smell of blood and rot thick in the air, and a woman's voice came to them, soft and low.

_“First day they come, and catch everyone.”_

Everyone glanced at each other.

_“Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.”_

The voice grew louder as they continued on into the tunnels, and the smell of rotting flesh grew more intense.

“I really don't like the sounds of that,” Kitranna said.

Oghren frowned, tilting his head to one side as he listened for the voice again.

_“Third day, the men are all gnawed on again.”_

“Where is that coming from?” Zevran asked, glancing at the walls. 

_“Fourth day, we wait, and fear for our fate.”_

“We really need to find whoever is saying that,” Kitranna said, glancing at the walls.

_“Fifth day, they return, and it's another girl's turn.”_

“I know that voice,” Oghren said at last. 

“Who is it?” Kitranna wanted to know.

“Hespith! One of Branka's--” Oghren went pale. “We need to find her.”

_“Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams,”_

“This is not looking good,” Kitranna said, shaking her head.

_“Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew. Eighth day we hated as she is violated. Ninth day she grins and devours her kin. Now she does feast, as she's become the beast...”_

They rounded a corner, and the sheer smell of the room they entered knocked them back. The room was filled with the stench of rotten meat, and meat covered the walls and floor as if a demon had been living there. But there was no demon—just a dwarrowdam in a ragged tunic and breeches. 

“Hespith...” Oghren breathed.

The dwarrowdam turned and they saw that her eyes were fever-bright, her skin pale and gray. Her gaze skipped over them and settled on Kitranna, at the front of the group.

“What's this?” Hespith said. “Elves? Humans?” she glanced at Oghren. “More kin, but not clan. Impossible. I am cruel to myself. You are a dream of stranger's faces and open doors.”

“Wynne...?” Kitranna said, not taking her eyes off of Hespith. “Can you...help?”

Wynne moved forward, a healing spell at her hands. Oghren stepped behind her, somewhat hesitant. Hespith didn't protest as Wynne laid her hands on the dwarrowdam's face. 

“This...is like no corruption I have ever seen,” Wynne said. “There is Taint, and a fever, and several other things besides...”

“Corruption?” Hespith's head jerked up, out of Wynne's hold. “The men did that. Their wounds festered and their minds left. They are like dogs, marched ahead, the first to die.” she shook her head. “Not us. Not me. Not Laryn. We are not cut. We are fed. Friends and flesh and blood and bile and...and...”

“What is she talking about?” Kitranna asked the group, none of whom understood. Wynne tried another healing spell, her lips pursed, but nothing seemed to be making any change.

“All I could do was wish Laryn went first.” Hespith continued, her head falling to one side as if it were too heavy to hold up. “I wished it upon her so that I would be spared. But I had to watch. I had to see the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?”

“What happened?” Kitranna asked. “What's going on?”

“They do what they are allowed to do,” Hespith said, looking down. “What they think they must. And Branka...” she shook her head. “Her lover, and I could not turn her.” her voice cracked. “Forgive her...but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become.”

“What's she done?” Oghren demanded. 

Hespith tilted her head to the other side and straightened her back somewhat. “I...I will not speak of her!” she declared. “Of what she did—of what we have become! I will not turn!”

Oghren held his hands up. “Look, Hespith,” he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “This is—we're just lookin' for Branka. I've gotta find her.”

Hespith shook her head. “I will not become what I have seen! Not Laryn! Not Branka!”

She bolted, very quick on her feet for someone who was so ill with the Taint, and they chased after her. She was the best chance they had of finding out where Branka went. However, they lost her in the ruins. 

Her voice rang out again. 

_“She became...possessed. That is the word. Blessed Stone, there was nothing left in her but the Anvil.”_

They pressed on, only one more path available to them, Hespith's words in their ears though the woman herself was nowhere to be seen.

_“We tried to escape, but they found us. Took us. Turned us...”_

“Who did this?” Kitranna called out, trying to get Hespith's attention. “The darkspawn?” she turned to her companions. “Since when do darkspawn take prisoners?”

_“The men, they kill. They're merciful,”_ Hespith's voice came again. _“But the women, they want. They want to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them...”_

Wynne was now looking quite ill. The group was more hesitant as they went through the ruins, through a large and ominous door that was strangely intact, but there was no other way to go.

_“They took Laryn. They made her eat the others, our friends. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood.”_

No one said anything, just pushed forward. 

_“And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned gray and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them.”_

There was a smell. Blood and meat and something rotten, something dead.

_“Broodmother...”_

Then they saw her. The Mother. 

Enormous, larger than an Ogre, barely recognizable as anything that had once been a dwarrowdam. Skin gray and covered in bleeding sores, her face quashed and torn. Her hands were swollen and twitched erratically, and her lipless mouth opened in a raw roar.

They fought her, of course, but darkspawn poured into the cave, drawn by the Broodmother's cries. The darkspawn prevented them getting at the Mother, and the mages attempted to get at the Mother with spells and arrows, but the darkspawn blocked them at every turn. 

They had been fighting for what felt like ages when someone new entered the fray. Someone slammed into the Broodmother from above, leaping off of an overhead cliff right on top of her. The Broodmother let out another cry, but muffled, as whoever it was attacked her again and again, until finally the Mother was silent. 

They finished off the rest of the darkspawn, and looked to see who it was who had aided them.

Standing over the Broodmother's corpse was Culwydd Aeducan, slinging a battered hammer over one shoulder. She was covered in blood, panting heavily, her tunic torn, her face and arms covered in bruises and cuts, but she was alive. She leaned hard on her warhammer, as if it were the only thing keeping her standing. 

Everyone was quiet for a moment, gathering their strength, before Zevran approached Culwydd.

“You have the most excellent of timing, my dear lady,” Zevran said, taking her elbow so she could take her weight off her hammer. 

Culwydd smiled. “I heard you were going through the Dead Trenches,” she said. “I couldn't let you all do that on your own, just for my brother.”

“We certainly appreciate it,” Zevran said. 

“That's where they come from,” said another voice, and they looked up to see Hespith on a ledge high above them. She looked down at the dead Broodmother with hollow eyes. “That's why they hate us. That's why they need us. That's why they take us. That's why they feed us.”

“Hespith...” Oghren breathed.

“Is that her name?” Culwydd said. “She lead me here.”

“Did she?” Kitranna said. 

Culwydd nodded. “The beast is dead,” she called up to Hespith. “You need not linger here anymore, Mistress.”

Hespith shook her head. “The true abomination is not that it occurred...but that it was allowed. Branka...my love...” her shoulder slumped. “The Stone had punished me, dream-friend. I am dying of something worse than death. Betrayal.”

She turned, and left.

“Hespith!” Oghren called. “Aw, dammit—she could've told us where Branka is--”

“We need to do something, don't we?” Wynne asked, looking up at the ledges. She glanced at Culwydd. “Do you know where she might have gone?”

Culwydd shook her head. “There are thousands of tunnels down here,” she said. “I'm not familiar with the area, so I don't know.” she looked up sadly at where Hespith had been. “She has the Taint pretty badly. I don't know how much more you could do for her.”

“The Warden ritual, perhaps...?” Wynne suggested.

“We don't have the supplies,” Kitranna said.

Oghren took half a step forward, then shook his head. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Why are you so intent on finding her?” Morrigan asked. “Is this not your wife's lover?”

Oghren shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “Sure, she's Branka's girl. Pretty awkward whenever she came around the house. But we—we know each other, and...” he trailed off. “We need to get moving,” he grumbled, looking down.

“Yes,” Culwydd said, and they all looked at her.

“Why are you so eager to join up with us now?” Kitranna asked.

“I changed my mind...” she paused and shook her head, avoiding Kitranna's eyes. “Thought you'd get killed, and then Orzammar would eat itself alive, then the whole world, maybe, seeing as how you're Wardens. So I followed your trail.” she scowled. “I found Hespith, listened to some of what she said—she was just rambling, but she brought me here, to that thing, and...”

“And what?”

“And if what she says is even half-right, Branka needs to be dealt with.” there was a dangerous gleam in Culwydd's eyes. “She disgraces the name of Paragon.”

“We don't know what happened!” Oghren protested. “You saw—Hespith was half-crazy with fever and Taint--”

“And you see that _thing_ ,” Culwydd snapped, pointing her hammer at the Broodmother. “That thing, which Hespith said used to be a dwarrowdam. And she said Branka _allowed_ this. I will get answers from Branka for what has been done here.”

“Or we could avoid this entirely and return to Orzammar, saying that Branka has blessed whomever we so choose, and then this business will be done with,” Morrigan said. “That would be the wiser and quicker decision.”

“No,” Oghren insisted. “Warden—you said we'd find Branka. We're almost there—I know we are!”

“Where would we go from here?” Kitranna said, gesturing around at the caves. “You said yourself—there are hundreds of tunnels here. If Branka isn't dead yet, she will be soon.” she pointed at Culwydd. “You could just come back with us now, and--”

Culwydd shook her head. “She must be close,” she said. “The Anvil is somewhere here, and so is she. The darkspawn are just—they're just a distraction.” she scowled. “Go back if you wish. I will find this so-called Paragon.”

Kitranna pursed her lips and exchanged looks with her companions. 

“Warden...” Oghren said in a warning tone. 

Kitranna gritted her teeth. “Yeah—yeah, that is what we said we'd do...” she trailed off, weighing her options.

She didn't know enough about dwarven culture to know if even a Paragon's endorsement would help put Bhelen on the throne, if the Assembly was too deadlocked. She hardly knew anything about Bhelen as it was—she had no idea if he would even honor their agreement. She thought he would, but she couldn't be sure. All of this was on half of a hope.

Culwydd, however, had come back to help them. She had saved them from the Broodmother. From the way it sounded in Orzammar, people had liked Culwydd far more than they liked either Harrowmont or Bhelen now. 

Yes, she was strange, and she could definitely use a bath, and there was a good chance she was more than a little crazy from wandering the Deep Roads for so long, but the fact remained that she had helped them in battle where her brother had not. As a matter of fact, it was Bhelen who sent them on this mad quest to begin with, and had possibly killed his siblings. 

And Branka might have done something very, very bad. Kitranna looked at the dead Broodmother, and felt a fire in her belly.

“We'll go,” she said. “She can't be far off—we'll go and find her.”

Morrigan scowled. Kitranna gently put a hand on Morrigan's shoulder, then just as quickly took it off. Morrigan's expression lightened a bit.

“If this is what you wish...” Morrigan said.

Kitranna nodded. “It is. Let's go. Any idea where she might be?”

Culwydd actually had some idea, as did Oghren. Oghren could read Branka's trail, and even if Culwydd didn't know this particular Thaig, she could see patterns in the tunnels and halls. So they followed the trail, as thin and cold as it was, and at long last, they came to Paragon Branka.


	16. Coronation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the anvil is very weird tbh 
> 
> finally, those pairing tags pay off

Branka wasn't far at all. 

They found her past the darkspawn tunnels, in a ruin that smelled more like hot metal and coal than the blood and rot of the caves previous. 

“Let me be blunt with you,” she said when she spotted them. It seemed she had already known they were coming and positioned herself on a platform where they couldn't reach her. “After all this time, my tolerance for social graces has become fairly limited. That doesn't bother you, I hope.”

She was dressed in full plate, a stark contrast to Hespith's ragged tunic and leggings. She had a sword and shield on her back. Her face was weatherbeaten, as if she had been in the desert for some time, but she showed no visible signs of Taint, nor could Kitranna feel any in her. 

“Branka?” Oghren exclaimed. “By the Stone—I barely recognized you!”

“Oghren.” Branka sounded entirely unimpressed. “It figures you'd find your way here. I hope you can find your way back more easily.”

Culwydd growled and pointed her hammer at Branka. “We are not leaving until I hear answers, Paragon,” she said.

Branka narrowed her eyes. “Lady Aeducan,” she said, blinking. “I'm surprised you could tolerate Oghren long enough to come here. Why have you come here?”

“I come because of Hespith,” Culwydd said. She stepped forward. “Because of the ruins of your entire house, back there,” she gestured back from whence they had come. “Because of that thing—that _Broodmother_. What have you _done_ here?”

“My household has given themselves, body and soul, to reach the Anvil,” Branka said, her face twisting. 

“No artifact is worth what you have done here!”

“The armies created from the Anvil were once the envy of the world!” Branka proclaimed. “The golems held off the very first Darkspawn ever to rise—that is worth everything, _anything_!”

“Not this!” Culwydd's lips were pale with rage. “Hespith said you allowed your people to be consumed by Blight—allowed one to turn into a Broodmother!”

Branka shook her head. “This is more important than one person, than an entire household of people,” she said. “What are a few dead or lost when _all_ of us could be saved by the Anvil?”

“You would let your own people be infected with Blight,” Culwydd snarled. “Your goals do not matter in the face of that.”

“Whatever you think of me, it matters not,” Branka said. “There's only one way out, Lady Aeducan,” Branka said. “Forward. Through Caridin's maze, his gauntlet of traps, and out to where the Anvil lies.”

“Do you seriously think we're going to test these traps for you?” Kitranna demanded, folding her arms.

Branka's eyes alighted upon her. “And how shall I address you?” she said. “One who speaks so boldly in a noble's presence must feel themselves of some import—are you a hired sword of the Lady here?”

“Be respectful, woman!” Oghren exclaimed. “You're talking to a Gray Warden!”

Branka tilted her head back. “So this must be a truly _important_ errand,” she drawled. “Well, as I said—the only way out is through Caridin's gauntlet, to the Anvil. If you wish to leave, you must pass that. Unless, of course, you want to brave the Darkspawn tunnels again--” she looked them over with a piercing gaze. “But I don't think that is what you came here to do.”

“No,” Culwydd shook her head. “No, we're not going back.” she peered up to Branka's ledge. “There must be a way up there.”

“Woah, Lady, don't try that,” Oghren said quickly, grabbing Culwydd's shoulder. “She'll have laid traps of her own—probably why the darkspawn haven't got to her yet.” he looked up at Branka. “What has this place done to you?” he demanded of her. “I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance--”

Branka's face tightened. “I am your Paragon.” she turned and left them, heading to a point out of sight.

“If we really want to reach her, we need to go through this gauntlet, I guess,” Kitranna sighed. 

“There must be a way around,” Culwydd said.

“If there was, Branka would have found it,” Oghren pointed out. 

So, through the gauntlet it was. 

“I needed people to test Caridin's traps,” Branka said as they approached the mouth of the gauntlet. She was following their group's progress from a ledge high overhead. “There is no way through, except by trial and error.”

Culwydd's face soured. “So, you sent the members of your house in?” she demanded. 

“They were all pledged to my service!” Branka exclaimed. “But none of them wanted to help, even my Hespith...even she couldn't understand that when you try for greatness, there are sacrifices. As many sacrifices as are needed.”

“I will see your name stricken from the Shaperate's record!” Culwydd called out. 

Branka let out a hollow laugh. “What import do names have here?” she said. “Names and titles don't matter. _This_ matters.”

They went through the traps, acquiring a number of injuries as they went. They faced golems (Shale was smaller than all of them, much to Shale's fury) and poisons and fire, until at last they came to the Anvil. 

The gauntlet ended at an enormous natural cave. The cave was hot, even more so than Orzammar or the Deep Roads, and was lit by open flows of lava far below the precipice that they walked upon. 

Inactive golems lined their path, and there were huge monuments covered in many names that were there as well.

A golem made of metal instead of stone was at the end of the path. It sparked with lightning and its face was a featureless helmet instead of the more flexible, fleshlike face that Shale and the other stone golems possessed. 

“My name is Caridin,” the golem said. His voice echoed in his chest. “Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar. If you seek the Anvil, you must hear my story, or be doomed to relive it.”

The blood drained out of Culwydd's face, and she stepped forward, her eyes very large. 

“Caridin?” Shale said. “The Paragon smith? Alive?”

Caridin tilted his helmet up, as if he recognized Shale. “Ah,” he said. “There is a voice I recognize. Shayle, of the House of Cadash—step forward.”

“You know each other?” Kitranna asked, looking from Shale to Caridin. 

Shale ignored Kitranna, focused entirely on Caridin. “You...know my name? Is it you that forged me then? Is it you that gave me my name?”

“Have you forgotten then?” Caridin let out a forlorn sigh. “It has been so long. I made you into the Golem you are now, Shale, but before that, you were a dwarf, just as I was. The finest warrior to serve King Valtor, and one of only a few dwarrowdam to volunteer.”

“A dwarf?” Shale exclaimed. “A dwarrowdam?”

“I laid you on the Anvil of the Void, here in this very room. Put you into the form you now possess.”

“Golems used to be dwarves...So you're a Paragon inside...a suit of armor?” Kitranna said, putting one hand on her hip. “How'd you get in there?” she narrowed her eyes. There was a peculiar feeling of magic about Caridin's person, and a taste in the back of her mouth like a lyrium potion, but nothing solid, nothing she could focus on. “This is magic. Dwarves can't do magic.”

“It is not magic,” Caridin corrected. “Not of the sort you or your people would know.”

“ _My_ people? What do you mean by that? Mages or elves?”

“Both. What the dwarves do is not known to surfacers—not any longer.”

“What else would you call it, if not magic?” Morrigan wanted to know. “You have obtained long life—how is this possible, without magic?”

“Dwarves cannot do magic,” Culwydd said.

“Then how is this man still alive?” Morrigan demanded.

“This doesn't make any sense,” Kitranna said. “I mean—how are golems animated, if not by magic? I thought they were enchanted—isn't enchantment magic? Did you enchant yourself?” she rubbed her chin.

“I suppose that means dwarves may do magic, but only via enchantment,” Morrigan said. 

“Stop it,” Culwydd snapped. “Let him continue, for the love of the Stone!”

“But--” Kitranna said. 

“Peace,” Caridin said. “This is not the time nor the place for such musings. I wish we could speak of many things, but there is only time for one. In my time, I made many things, but I rose to fame and carried my status on a single item; the Anvil of the Void. It allowed me to forge the golems—soldiers as invincible as stone or steel, but flexible as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible. But I told no one the cost.”

“The lives of dwarves,” Culwydd breathed.

“Yes,” Caridin said, with another sigh. “No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life. To make golems, I had to take their lives from elsewhere.”

“How could they have _not_ known?” Kitranna demanded. “People had to have noticed warriors and things going missing, only for more golems to turn up.”

“Perhaps they believed it was worth the sacrifice.” Wynne said.

“I volunteered, apparently,” Shale said. “If others volunteered--”

“Was it worth it?” Kitranna asked. “All those people—was it worth it? It must have been risky.”

“It wasn't worth it,” Culwydd snapped. “There must have been some other way to hold off the darkspawn, something else--”

“The conclusion you reach is one that it took me far longer to arrive at,” Caridin told Culwydd. “And my kin said much the same. And ultimately, the Anvil took far more than could ever be replaced.”

“What do you mean?” Culwydd asked.

“I had only intended to use volunteers, but the king was not satisfied, and soon a river of blood flowed out of this place. Finally, it was too much, and I refused, and so Valtor had me put on the Anvil in the end.”

“What happened then?” Culwydd asked. “Why are you here?”

“My apprentices knew enough to make me as I am, but not enough to fashion a control rod. I retained my mind, and drove Valtor away from this place, so he could no longer make use of the Anvil.” Caridin's head tilted up again, so he was looking at Shale. “You were amongst the most loyal, Shayle. You remained at my side throughout, and at the end, I sent you away out of mercy.”

“I...do not remember,” Shale admitted. They looked around, at the inactive golems lining the path. “What about the others, here?”

“We have remained entombed here ever since,” Caridin said. “Their minds are not their own. Shale, you possessed a remarkable strength of will—I was confident you could regain your mind in time. But the stragglers who remain here—the Anvil destroyed them utterly. So they are here, because there is nowhere else to send them.”

Shale glanced at one of the other golems, an unreadable expression on their face.

“I have searched for a way to destroy the Anvil,” Caridin said. “Alas, I cannot do it myself. No Golem can touch it.”

“No!” they all turned to see Branka running up from the mouth of the gauntlet. “The Anvil is mine! No one will take it from me!”

Culwydd whirled, pointing her hammer at Branka. “It isn't yours!” she snapped. “ _Nothing_ is yours! It was the Aeducans who named you Paragon, so an Aeducan revokes your status for what you have done!”

Branka faltered in her tracks, and a sneer twisted her face. “What is the word of one spoiled noble against me?” she said. “Deshyrs and lords and ladies come and go—this has meaning! This is more than a few sacrificed souls, more than you or I or anything! You have no sway over that!”

“You let your own household become darkspawn!” Culwydd said. “Consigned them all to the Taint, just for your own goals! You are no Paragon—you are no Child of the Stone! No true dwarf would let any of their fellows fall to the Taint, but you have done it willingly! You are worse than Casteless--you are _erased_!”

Branka drew her sword and shook her head, moving forwards. Wynne cast an entrapment glyph on her to slow her down, which it did, but it surely wouldn't hold for long.

“Shale,” Caridin said, voice urgent and echoing. “You fought to protect the Anvil once—do not let it fall into unthinking hands again!”

“You speak of things I do not remember,” Shale said quickly, glancing between the oncoming Branka and back at Caridin again. “Did you use our control rods to make us fight?”

“I destroyed the control rods—perhaps my apprentices learned to replace them, but if so, I do not know.”

Shale turned to face Branka, and Caridin turned his attention to Kitranna. “You—help me destroy the Anvil. Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!”

Kitranna already had her weapon out. “First, I want to take care of Branka,” she told Caridin over her shoulder. “Then we decide what to do with the Anvil.”

Branka's armor had begun to glow, clearly enchanted with magic resistance. Wynne re-cast her glyph, and Branka let out a frustrated growl.

“What do we do now?” Kitranna asked. 

“Kill her,” Culwydd commanded. 

“No!” Oghren protested. “Not after all this time—we can't just kill her because you say so, your _Highness_ ,” 

“She has done terrible wrongs, but surely she deserves better than death,” Wynne said. 

“Despite all she has done, she is clearly skilled and intelligent,” Morrigan said. “Could she not be of use against the Blight?” 

“If she was willing to do what she did to her own people, imagine what else she might do to those who are not,” Zevran pointed out. "An unreliable resource is hardly a resource at all."

“So you want to just kill her?” Oghren spat.

“I did not say that,” Zevran said.

“I _did_ ,” Culwydd snapped, cutting off all debate. “You--” she pointed at Kitranna. “You want me to take the throne, yes?”

“Honestly, I just want an army,” Kitranna said. “I just want to take the path of least resistance to get there.” she looked at Branka. “She did turn her house into darkspawn, but—killing her?” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I mean, look, if nothing else, I'd feel bad about killing someone when they weren't fighting back.”

The glyph holding Branka still shattered with a sound like a cord that had been snapped, and she charged forward. 

“You want an army?” she roared. “Help me claim the Anvil, and you will have an army like you've never seen!” she gestured her sword at Culwydd. “You want to listen to this Lady, this soft-hearted girl? Or this golem, who's been marinating in his own madness for a thousand years?”

“Branka—you mad, bleeding—nug-tail!” Oghren exclaimed. “You want this thing so bad you can't even see what you've lost to get it! I'm tryin' to stop them _killing you_ , woman, don't help their damn case!”

“Look around you!” Branka said. “Is this what our empire should look like? A crumbling tunnel spilled with darkspawn spume?”

“As if you helped that, when you sent your own people to the darkspawn for food!” Culwydd snarled. 

“The Anvil will let us take back our glory!” Branka insisted. “Surely even you can see that—you must know what we used to be, how far we have fallen!”

Culwydd shook her head. “You would sacrifice everything we are to the thing that took our homes out from underneath us,” she said, and looked back at Kitranna. “So, Warden? What shall it be?”

Kitranna looked from Branka's fevered face, to Culwydd, dirt-streaked and hollow eyed, to Caridin, his metal mask impassive but his massive shoulders hunched and his empty chest heaving. 

She remembered Hespith's face, her broken lips and dry, cracked skin. She glanced over to where the Anvil sat, over a precipice, gleaming with Lyrium and making the air smell like magic and lightning. 

Did they even know how to make golems anymore? Branka said she did—but Caridin said he'd had apprentices to the art. There had to be more to it than 'slam someone on the Anvil, hit them with a hammer a lot.'

Too many things could go wrong.

“Still not sure what to do about Branka,” Kitranna said. “But Caridin—we'll figure out a way to destroy the Anvil. Push it into the lava or something.”

Branka let out a cry of rage and Caridin relaxed with an echoing sigh. Branka charged forward, but before anyone could do anything, Culwydd slammed her hammer into Branka's head. Branka bashed her with her shield, and Morrigan iced the ground underneath Branka's feet, making the woman slip and fall. Culwydd raised her hammer and brought it down again, caving in Branka's skull. 

Branka collapsed, and with an anguished cry, Oghren went to her side. He put his face in his hands. Culwydd stood back, her chest heaving. Her nose was bleeding and broken, but she hardly seemed to care.

“Another life lost to the Anvil,” Caridin said, moving so he was next to Oghren. 

Oghren looked up at him. 

“Yeah, well, she always was a stubborn, crazy--” he choked off the end of his sentence and shook his head. “Yeah.”

“I wish no mention of the Anvil had made it into history,” Caridin said, his voice bitter.

“Yeah. Stupid woman...always knew the Anvil would kill her...”

“This...all of this is my doing,” Caridin said, spreading one massive metal arm to encompass the chamber that they were in. “My legacy.” he looked over at Kitranna. “At least it ends here. I thank you for standing with me, strangers.”

“No problem,” Kitranna said with a casual shrug. 

“On the contrary, I believe it was a great deal of trouble to do this,” Zevran said. 

“The Anvil waits there for you to shatter it,” Caridin interjected. 

“We can just break it?” Kitranna asked. She tapped her chin. “ _How_ do we break it?”

“For all it is an Anvil, it is still a delicate instrument,” Caridin said. “You need only strike the hammer on it, and it will break.”

“Was that an issue when you worked on it?” Kitranna asked. “That you'd hit it wrong and it would break?”

“No,” Caridin said. “If there is an item being crafted there, it will stay whole.”

“This sounds more and more like magic.”

A chuckle rumbled in Caridin's chest. “Perhaps it is, of a kind,” he admitted. “I have been here many years, and have heard many strange things that wander the Deep Roads. Perhaps there is something like magic in dwarves.”

“There is?” Culwydd exclaimed. “How do you know?”

“I always had the suspicion when I was a dwarf,” Caridin admitted. “And spirits have come here, once in a great while.”

“You can talk to spirits?” Kitranna said. 

“Only if they are strong and curious enough—but yes, once or twice I spoke to something older than I, stronger than I, who had seen more of the world. But this is not why you have come here.”

“That sounds pretty important, actually,” Kitranna said. 

“Such information would be lost forever if you did not tell us,” Morrigan said.

“What I could tell you would take many lifetimes,” Caridin said. “And we have not the time. Is there any boon I can grant you, a final favor for destroying the Anvil, before I am freed from my burden?”

“You want anything, Oghren?” Kitranna asked.

“Don't suppose you could bring Branka back?” Oghren asked. “Maybe make her a golem, like you?”

“I would not do such a thing to her even if I could.” Caridin said.

“Somehow I didn't think so. Then I don't want anything that would remind me of...this. Best it's just done.”

Kitranna rubbed her forehead. She glanced at Branka's body, and sighed. “We still need a Paragon's word, don't we?” she said. “I mean—unless you can just come back and waltz into power,” she told Culwydd.

Culwydd sighed and closed her eyes. “I cannot do that,” she said.

“Figures it wouldn't be easy.”

“Ah, a quarrel over the throne has brought you here?” Caridin said.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Kitranna admitted. “And then there was everything else—but yeah. We came down here because we needed a Paragon's word to try and settle the whole thing with the throne. Won't be able to fight the darkspawn without it.”

“Then for the aid you have given me, I shall put hammer to steel one last time, and make a crown for your monarch.”

“Will that take very long? Zevran asked. “We cannot possibly linger here for much longer...”

“A few hours, perhaps,” Caridin said.

“Really? Most smiths take days to create their works...” Zevran tapped a finger on his lips, looking curious. “Leatherworkers and tailors also.”

“I am no mere smith.” there was something of a smile in Caridin's voice. “Be assured—it will not take long.”

Caridin went to work on the crown while the rest of them licked their wounds and rested. Kitranna and Oghren moved Branka's body. There was nowhere to bury her, not decently, but they took her back to her camp and wrapped her in cloth. They weren't sure what to do with her after that, as they didn't particularly feel like dragging the body back to Orzammar, and Culwydd would refuse to do so anyway. They left her at her camp, and Oghren erected a simple marker for her. 

“Darkspawn'll probably drag her off,” he remarked, shaking his head. “Idiot woman.”

Kitranna patted his shoulder. She didn't really know what else to do. 

They returned to the chamber with the Anvil, where Caridin was still working on the crown. His hands, enormous and blunt, were surprisingly delicate while handling the artifact. 

“Do you truly wish to not discover the Anvil's secrets?” Morrigan asked, putting one hand on Kitranna's forearm before swiftly removing it. “It is a marvel! A tool of creation!”

“Even the best of tools may be misused,” Wynne said. “This is a thing of blood magic—of destruction.”

“It is no blood magic,” Caridin's rumbling voice rang out. He could hear them, even over the sound of hammer striking on metal. “It is no magic you would recognize.”

“And sometimes the destruction of one thing is required to make way for another,” Morrigan said. “'Tis a law of nature that death is a parent to life.” she looked back at Kitranna. “If you destroy the Anvil, you will regret it!”

“Yeah, probably,” Kitranna said with a wistful sigh.

“Then you should leave it be.”

Kitranna looked at Caridin, who scrutinized her intently. “Nah,” she said. “Too easy to mess up. I mean, it ended up badly the first time,” she gestured to Caridin. “I don't really want a repeat of that. Do you honestly think we could somehow make absolutely sure some idiot with too much power and too little sense didn't get a hold of it?”

Morrigan sighed as well. “I suppose there is a logic there. Destroy it if it pleases you,” she said. She folded her arms, clearly unhappy.

“Either way, I don't really feel like pissing either him or Shale off,” Kitranna said. “We're all in pieces anyway, we still need to get back to Orzammar and not die.”

“An excellent point,” Morrigan admitted. She pursed her lips. “These darkspawn have ruined so many things,” she said, wistful. “So much magic and history, lost forever because of them.”

“Well, it's a good thing we're killing the Archdemon then, isn't it?”

Morrigan gave a dark chuckle. “Until the next one rises, of course.”

Kitranna leaned back, looking up at the dark cavern ceiling overhead. “Yeah. Until that.”

On the other side of the room, Zevran was sitting by Culwydd. The energy had gone out of her now that there was no more fighting to be done, and she sat on the floor, almost asleep. Wynne had healed her injuries as best she could, but Wynne was exhausted as the rest of them. 

“So, where do you come from?” Culwydd asked Zevran, her eyes half-closed. “Never seen an elf like you before. I've never seen any elves before, actually, outside of books.”

“I am from Antiva,” Zevran told her. 

“And where's that?”

“In the north,” he said. “Far to the north, much warmer than in your Frostbacks. Though not nearly as hot as it is in Orzammar.”

“And how did you come to be here? It must be quite a long way.”

“Ah, I was hired to kill the fair Warden. I failed, and instead of killing me, she just so happened to want me along for their quest.”

“Why?” Culwydd peered at him. “That seems foolish.”

“I try not to question the thing that resulted in me being alive. It seems as if it would summon ill fate.”

“So are you a mercenary, then?”

“Assassin. A Crow, actually. Have you known many Crows?”

“No.”

“Not surprising. We do not do much work in Orzammar.”

“Most surfacers don't do work in Orzammar.” she ran a hand through her hair. It was long and thick, tangled and matted with blood. “A pity, really. Perhaps if we were more closely allied with the Surface, the darkspawn problem would be less.”

“Have you ever been to a Surface country?”

She shook her head. “No. Just Orzammar. And here.” she watched Caridin working on the crown. “Is Bhelen really trying for the throne? It's not a bluff, or some kind of gambit?”

“Indeed he is. He sent us all the way here to search for Branka to support him, after all.”

She shook her head again. “He'd make a terrible King.”

“Many people would make terrible kings. That does not prevent them from trying.”

She scowled. “No, it doesn't.”

“So, you are definitely coming back with us, then?”

“I don't particularly feel like staying in the Deep Roads any longer and I _certainly_ don't feel like letting Bhelen run Orzammar into the ground. So, yes.”

“So you no longer feel so...self-destructive as you did when we first met?”

She peered at him. “I suppose not.”

“Good. Personally, when I first heard of you, I thought there was a chance that you would be in the Deep Roads, still alive. I am pleased I was right.”

“Why did you think that?”

Zevran waved a hand. “It is the sort of thing that occurs in Antiva on a semi-regular basis. If dwarven politics are anything like Antivan politics, there was a chance it could happen.”

“And why do you want me to be Queen?”

He smiled. “Why would I not favor a woman both so lovely and deadly over her brother, who, to be honest, is neither the most likable nor competent of individuals?”

Culwydd chuckled. “You really dislike Bhelen that much? You didn't even meet me until you came to the Deep Roads.”

“I have seen his like before. Aggressive, warlike...good for the assassination business, but not much for anything else.”

“So...you would choose me over him, because Bhelen is useless?” she paused. “That's true, but...”

“I also do not like wasting my time, which Bhelen seemed all to pleased to do.”

“That also sounds like him.” she sighed. “I don't really want to be Queen, though.”

“I am sure you could find a way around it,” he assured her. “And it is not so bad.”

“Find a way around it? What do you mean?”

Zevran opened his mouth, but was interrupted by Caridin informing them that the crown was finished. They hurried over to him, and he held it delicately in his massive hands. He passed it to Kitranna.

“There. It is done. Give it to whom you will.” Caridin said. “I do not wish to hear their names, or anything more of them. I have already lived long past my time. I have no place here.”

Kitranna nodded. “I'll destroy the Anvil, like you want,” she said. She walked over to it and picked up the hammer that lay next to it. The Anvil was enormous, with veins of lyrium running over its surface and gleaming in the light. She raised the hammer and brought it down on the Anvil, and it shattered into hundreds of pieces as if it were made of glass. Each piece shone brightly, and they all had razor-sharp edges.

Caridin and Kitranna stood before the pieces of the Anvil. Kitranna looked at the pieces of the Anvil, then back up at Caridin. “What are you going to do now?” she asked. 

Caridin walked to the edge of the precipice the Anvil had rested on, the edge that looked out over the lake of lava far below.

“You have my eternal thanks,” he told her. “Atrast nal tunsha...may you always find your way in the dark.”

He spread his arms and fell over the side of the precipice. Kitranna and the others hurried to look down, but he was already gone, a fading shape in the lava below. 

“A waste,” Morrigan muttered. 

“It was what he wanted,” Kitranna said. “Come on. We need to get going.” she looked at Culwydd. “You're coming back with us, right?”

Culwydd nodded. “I suppose I have to deal with Bhelen,” she said. 

Kitranna handed her the crown. It was heavy, but delicate, carved with intricate designs. “This is yours then.”

Culwydd took the crown and looked down at it, a pensive expression on her face. “Not yet it's not,” she said.

Kitranna clapped her on the back. “It will be. Come on, let's get out of here.”

The journey back was difficult, long and hard. Moreso now that they had less supplies and were injured from the many fights they had gotten into on the way here. Fortunately, there seemed to be less darkspawn, perhaps due to the lack of Broodmothers in the area. 

Morrigan was still angry about the loss of the Anvil, but she had to admit that even if they had salvaged it, there was no way they could have transported such a large and heavy magical artifact across all of the Deep Roads. Wynne was pleased the thing was destroyed, and Kitranna still wasn't quite sure what to think.

Zevran and Culwydd were getting on very well—a little alarmingly so, to be quite honest. They frequently took watches together and chatted quietly about a variety of things. 

“Do you enjoy being an assassin, Zevran?” Culwydd asked one evening (or what went as evening in the Deep Roads) while they both were on watch. 

“And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva.”

“Such as?”

“You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses—even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at. As for the killing part—well, some people simply need assassinating. Or do you disagree?”

“Well...” Culwydd sighed. “I'd prefer to get things done without killing people.”

“Ah, but the world does not bow to your preferences, does it?”

“Sadly, no.”

“It does not bow to mine, either.”

“Shame, really.”

“It is, isn't it?”

“Would you do anything else besides assassination if you could?” Culwydd asked.

“Well...there are many things I did not appreciate about being a Crow,” Zevran admitted. “Having no choice, being treated as an expensive commodity, the rules—oh, so many rules! But simply being an assassin? I like that just fine—I will continue to do that, even if I am not a Crow. What else could you picture me doing?”

“A lot of things,” she said. “You're clever, you at least know enough about politics to muddle your way through Orzammar's—and the pretty face doesn't hurt, either.”

Zevran laughed. “Clever? I must admit, that is not the adjective most people would use to describe me.”

“Oh no? Well you have to be at least a bit clever, to deal with Bhelen and the other nobles.”

“It was mostly Surana who was doing that.”

“But it was you who thought I might still be alive,” she said. 

“More of a hope than anything. And there is a sort of poetic justice to it, no?”

She smiled and put a hand on his forearm. “Well, I appreciate it.”

He raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. “Oh?”

“Yes. Should I not?”

“It is always nice to be appreciated for one's talents,” he said. 

She pulled back a little, then more. “I—sorry,” she said, looking away. She wrung out one of her hands, shaking it. “Touching people is strange.”

Zevran was unruffled. “You spent a great deal of time here by yourself,” he said. “You are lucky you did not completely lose your mind.”

“Or become a Broodmother.”

“You know, I was not going to mention those things,” Zevran said. “But yes, it is good that did not happen either.”

“I keep thinking about her,” she admitted. “The Broodmother.”

“Quite vile,” Zevran said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “It was sad, too.” she clenched her fist. “And it makes me want to kill the darkspawn.”

“Is there anything constructive one can do with a darkspawn other than kill it?” he pointed out. 

“Not much,” she said. “You can't even eat them.”

“I am not sure that I would want to do that.”

“Well—no, obviously not,” Culwydd said. “But that's one of the most basic uses you can get out of something that's not a plant or a rock, and they don't even fulfill that.”

“I suppose that is one way of looking at it.”

“Sometimes, I thought about eating darkspawn,” Culwydd admitted.

Zevran looked at her and didn't say anything.

She waved a hand. “I know, I know—bad idea. Which is why I didn't. But you get damn hungry down here, even with the deepstalkers.”

“How fortunate that we are returning to Orzammar, then, is it not?”

Culwydd nodded. “Tell me more about the surface,” she demanded. “I don't want to be down here anymore.”

“Hm...” Zevran thought. “What do you wish to hear?”

 

“You gonna marry the princess or what?” Kitranna asked Zevran at one point, curious about how they spent their time together.

Zevran smiled. “I do not think that is an immediate concern of mine or hers,” he said. 

“I'm just saying you could,” she said. “I didn't see anything in the Shaperate about elves not being able to marry dwarves. And if you did, I bet the Crows would never come after you.”

“Probably not,” Zevran agreed. He peered at her. “Why is your immediate thought marriage?” he asked curiously. “Can we not simply enjoy each others' company?”

“Sure,” Kitranna said with a shrug. “But I don't know...I figure if you can get married, lots of people would do it.”

“And if I were to ask you if you planned to marry our fair but very sour apostate, would you say yes or no?”

“Morrigan?” Kitranna exclaimed, her voice hitching a little. “That's different.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one, I don't think she and I could legally get married. We're mages.”

“Ah,” Zevran nodded. “Yes, I have heard that is a problem.”

Kitranna scowled and crossed her arms. “Not sure why we can't get married,” she admitted. “I just know in the Circle they refused to do it.”

“This is beyond my scope of expertise,” Zevran said. “Perhaps Wynne would know more?”

Kitranna glanced at the older woman. “No,” she said. “Probably not. Anyway, why do you think I'd marry Morrigan in the first place?”

“Why not?”

“Well I—we're friends, but--” Kitranna felt the tips of her ears flush. 

Zevran chuckled. “With dear Morrigan, being able to even call her a friend feels halfway to a marriage proposal.”

“And what would it take for you to want to marry someone?” Kitranna asked. 

Zevran shrugged. “Oh—I do not know. I had not considered it before. Crows do not usually get married, you see.”

“Why not?”

“We usually die before we have the chance.”

“Oh.” Kitranna looked at the ground. “That's too bad.”

“Not always,” he assured her. “And in any case, I am no longer with the Crows. I am with you.”

“That's true,” Kitranna gave him a tiny smile, and he smiled back.

The Legion of the Dead troupe greeted them on their way back, gave them some supplies, and send them on their way. They were all quite surprised that everyone had made it back in one piece, with an additional member, no less. 

When they arrived back in Orzammar, the Assembly was in session. No one recognized Culwydd, as she was in battered armor and her cheeks and eyes were both hollow, but the guards at the Assembly recognized Kitranna, so let her in immediately.

“Lords and Ladies of the Assembly, I call for order!” Steward Bandelora was saying, attempting to calm the room. The mood was dire, the room filled with many angry mutterings. “This argument gets us nowhere!”

“Then why these delaying tactics?” Bhelen demanded. He was at the front of the room, opposite Harrowmont. “I call for a vote right now. My father has one living child to assume the throne. Who would deny him that?”

“Wrong, as usual, Bhelen,” Culwydd's voice rang out across the Assembly, and everyone fell into a deathly silence.

“Sister...” Bhelen breathed. Then he raised his voice. “What are you doing here? You were banished—banished for killing Trian!”

“I did not kill him!” Culwydd roared, drowning out the voices of Bhelen and the other nobility. “I did not kill him,” she repeated, quieter. “You did, Bhelen.”

Bhelen snorted. “A fair trial proved--”

“Incorrect,” Culwydd snapped. She pulled Caridin's crown out and held it out, so all could see this. “Do you see this? This is the work of a Paragon, of Caridin himself, and he bestowed it upon me.”

“Caridin?” Harrowmont exclaimed. “He is long dead--”

At that, Oghren stepped forward. “Caridin was trapped in the body of a golem,” he explained to the increasingly agitated crowd. “This Warden--” he gestured to Kitranna. “Granted him the mercy he sought, releasing him and destroying the Anvil of the Void.”

“Then why would he have given anything to her?” Harrowmont asked, gesturing towards Culwydd. 

“Because I aided the Warden,” Culwydd said. “When she was in danger, I saved her. And before he died, Caridin crafted this crown, to give to the rightful ruler or Orzammar. And he gave it to me.”

“She is chosen by the ancestors themselves!” Oghren exclaimed. “She's Orzammar's next Queen, not either of you two!”

The Assembly burst into noise, the nobles talking and shouting over one another. 

“Silence!” Bandelora called. The room fell quiet again. She stepped forward, gesturing for the crown in Culwydd's hands. Culwydd handed it over, and Bandelora looked it over. “This crown is of Paragon make,” she proclaimed. “And it bears house Ortan's ancient seal.” she looked around the room. “The Ancestors have chosen,” she said. “Lady Aeducan has returned from exile, and the Stone itself exonerates her, and raises her up. She is Queen.”

“No--!” Bhelen called out. “This—this isn't right! How dare you--!” he surged forward, blade in hand, and Culwydd raised her own hammer, but several guards grabbed Bhelen before he could do anything. 

Harrowmont simply looked stunned.

Culwydd jutted her chin out and faced Harrowmont. “Have you any objections?” she demanded. 

Harrowmont shook his head. “If Caridin has chosen you, then...you are to be Queen,” he said, bowing his head. “I cannot defy a Paragon. The throne is yours.”

“Good.” Culwydd looked around the room. “Are there any objections from any of you?”

No one answered.

She nodded, more to herself than anything, and faced Bandelora, who still held the crown out. Bandelora inclined her head, and Culwydd went on one knee before her.

“Let the Memories find you worthy,” Bandelora said, holding out the crown. “First amidst the Lords and Ladies of the houses, the Queen of Orzammar!”


	17. Tidings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i write zev and culwydd just the teensiest bit like legolas and gimli and im ok with that 
> 
> and yes. kitranna is Very Gay for morrigan and vice versa but they're dopes and don't realize they're in love yet

Bandelora lowered the crown onto Culwydd's brow, and Culwydd rose to her feet.

“My first act as Queen is to imprison my brother, Bhelen,” Culwydd instructed. “Guards—take him to the dungeons.”

Bhelen was hauled away, bellowing threats against both Culwydd and Kitranna, while the Assembly muttered amongst themselves. 

Culwydd ignored Bhelen and instead focused her attention on Kitranna.

“I have seen with my own eyes the threat of darkspawn,” she said, her voice raised so the rest of the Assembly could hear her. “They do not merely threaten Orzammar, but our allies and friends on the surface.” she looked around the room. “We cannot pretend the surface does not exist, and neither will we let them ignore us. We will lend the strength of our armies to the Gray Wardens, and quell the threat of this Blight as we have done many times in the past.”

Kitranna smiled and inclined her head. “Thank you,” she said. 

“You and your companions have my thanks as well,” Culwydd said. “For unless you had come to the Deep Roads, I would have died down there, and Paragon Caridin would never have been found.”

The meeting ended swiftly after that, with Culwydd and Kitranna and the others all returning to the Palace. They needed to have a discussion that wasn't in a loud Assembly hall, and Culwydd desperately needed to re-orient herself with Orzammar. 

They were immediately greeted by Raen Brosca, who hadn't left the Palace with the rest of Kitranna's group, and instead stayed with her sister. 

“You,” she snapped, going right up to Culwydd. “They call you the new Queen, but I don't know you from manners.”

Culwydd blinked, and waved away the guards that had come to interfere. “...who are you?”

“My sister, Rica, has your brother's son,” Raen said. “What are you going to do?” 

“...oh.” Culwydd furrowed her brow. “Yes, I see...

“What about my sister?” Raen demanded. “What's to happen to her? What are you going to do? She has Bhelen's son, she's a noble now and everything, but I heard--”

“There's a frightening thought,” Culwydd muttered.

Raen's back straightened. “What do you mean by that?” she snapped. “What are you going to do?”

“I mean that the idea of Bhelen having children is terrifying,” Culwydd said. “I hope your sister is a good woman, because that poor child is going to need every good thing he can get from her—Bhelen doesn't have anything but bile in him.”

Raen didn't relax. “Tell me what you're going to do to them!”

“Nothing,” Culwydd said. 

“So you're not going to exile them or kill them or something?”

Culwydd blinked. “What? No. What has your sister ever done to me?”

“I thought—if you wanted to get rid of Bhelen's allies...” Raen ran a hand through her hair. “I mean, you did just toss him out on his ass.”

Culwydd waved a hand. “She was Casteless, yes? Like you? So even if she even moderately likes Bhelen—which I doubt—she was probably just using him as a strategy to get out of Dust Town.”

Raen scowled, then nodded. “Well...probably,” she admitted. 

“There you are then. She probably has more loyalty to you than to him.”

“Also true.”

“Now...if you would please move aside? If I don't sit down somewhere I may collapse.”

“Oh,” Raen moved out of the way, mollified. “Sorry, Your Majesty.” she glanced at Kitranna. “That's the right term, right?

“I don't think it matters at this point,” Kitranna said. 

“Don't worry, I'm not offended,” Culwydd said, sitting down on a padded bench. “It's hard to be offended by much after wandering around in the Deep Roads for months.”

“Well—I'll go tell Rica we don't have to flee for the Surface,” Raen said.

“She can stay here if she wants,” Culwydd said. “I mean—if she's been staying here, and her son is Bhelen's, that technically makes you part of the royal family.”

“It does?”

“Yes.”

Raen smiled. “Well—nice to have a new sister-in-law, then, I suppose,”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Raen left. Kitranna hovered in the hall, standing next to Culwydd, who had closed her eyes and didn't seem very intent on moving. Kitranna desperately desired a hot bath and then a long sleep (which was what everyone else was doing), but she felt like she should stay. 

To her great fortune, Zevran rounded the corner and found them. He'd changed into clean clothes instead of battered armor, and Kitranna realized at that moment exactly how foul both she and Culwydd smelled. Culwydd opened her eyes when she heard him coming.

“Oh—hello,” Culwydd said, with a soft smile.

“I saw dear Raen storming around the corner, so I thought this was where I might find you,” Zevran told Culwydd. He gave a significant glance to Kitranna, who let out a breath. 

“I guess we won't be getting anything done yet?” Kitranna said.

“Not until I've had some sleep,” Culwydd said, waving Kitranna off. Before Kitranna left entirely, she saw Culwydd put an arm around Zevran's shoulders. 

“I'm exhausted,” Culwydd murmured as Kitranna turned a corner, away from them. 

“As am I,” Zevran admitted. 

“I'm sure I have a thousand things to do...” Culwydd said. 

“As do I.”

“Should probably sleep first.”

“That sounds like a very appealing option,” Zevran agreed.

Culwydd was silent for a moment. “I don't know where my bedroom is,” she said blankly. “I can't remember where the old one was and they probably turned it into a guest room or something. Or walled it off.”

“You are the Queen, I presume you can sleep wherever you please.”

Culwydd got to her feet, as did Zevran. 

“Come with me,” she urged him. She gave him a half-smirk. “Then you can tell people you've slept with a Queen.”

Zevran chuckled. “Can I? How wonderful.”

“It is, isn't it?”

The pair of them did indeed eventually find a bedroom—one of the servants lead them to the suite traditionally assigned to the Queen. It had long stood vacant, with hardly a sign that anyone had ever lived in it.

The bed was enormous, far too big for any lone dwarf (or any lone elf, for that matter). Culwydd eased out of her armor, determining that she would have to get rid of it—it was   
simple leather, battered and torn and covered in stains and dirt. 

“What did you do with your armor?” she asked Zevran, suddenly curious as to where his leathers had gone. He was already in bed—he was too tired to even make a joking attempt at seduction, and had pulled the covers over his head. She could just see some strands of blond hair poking out from under the blankets. 

“I threw it into the lava pit,” he mumbled. “It smelled foul and was falling apart. Quite possibly carrying several diseases, also. I've had a few assassination jobs that have gone like that. Lava is the best solution.”

“I see,” Culwydd said, crawling into bed next to him. She sighed with relief. “I'm never leaving this bed,” she decided.

“An excellent choice,” Zevran said, his voice sounding sleepier now. He didn't so much as lift his head. 

Kitranna took to bed herself, but didn't sleep for long, dreams of the Archdemon waking her up. She was up and about long before Culwydd. She couldn't leave Orzammar yet, not without a formal alliance drawn up, but Culwydd not only needed to rest, she needed a healer to look her over. So much time in the Deep Roads hadn't done anything for her health. 

Kitranna sent Wynne to speak with the Palace healer and then attend to Culwydd, while she decided to go and do some of her smaller errands on her own. She still needed to find Dagna, after all. 

She gave the list of golem tributes to the Shaperate, who were both stunned and grateful for the finding. She then went to the house of Dagna's family, so she could speak with either Dagna's father or the dwarrowdam herself. An idea was shaping up in her mind, and she thought Dagna should hear about it. 

In the market district, the gleam of something golden caught Kitranna's eye. She looked closer at the stand where it had come from, and saw that it was a golden mirror. She was stricken with the resemblance the mirror had to the description Morrigan had told her of the mirror she had taken as a child, and immediately bought it. 

Pocketing the mirror, she went to Dagna's house. 

She caught Dagna instead of her parents, which was fortunate.

“Warden!” Dagna exclaimed, upon meeting her. “You're back from the Deep Roads! --oh, what am I saying, of course you are, Queen Aeducan came back from the Deep Roads and you came with her—did you need something? Is there any word from the Circle?”

“I'm still not sure if going to the Circle is the best idea for you,” Kitranna told her. Dagna opened her mouth to protest, but Kitranna held up a hand. “But I have another thought. I think you should definitely study magic, but I think Cul—Queen Aeducan needs to hear about it.”

“Really? Why?”

“Dwarves can't do magic, in the traditional sense, but they can make things that are magic,” she said. “In the Deep Roads, we found this artifact Paragon Caridin had made—the Anvil of the Void. He used it to make golems.”

“Wow!” Dagna exclaimed. “That's amazing!”

“And also, magical,” Kitranna said.

Dagna frowned. “Well...sure, dwarves can enchant things, but...I mean, that's not really the same as what mages do, is it?”

“I've never even heard of _any_ mage able to make an artifact like that,” Kitranna said. “It was—it was different than any enchanted artifact I've ever seen, it warped the Fade around it like a mage would, and it smelled like--” she paused. “Look, even if dwarves can't do magic the same as everyone else, this is something you should look into,” she said. “And who would be better to do that than someone who's interested in studying it?”

“But why do you think the Queen would want to hear about any research I do?” Dagna asked. 

“Because she needs to,” Kitranna said bluntly. “She saw the same things I did.”

Kitranna returned to the Palace after telling Dagna the appropriate time and place to visit. Upon hearing that Culwydd had awoken but was busy with the healers, she went to seek out Morrigan, mirror in hand.

Morrigan was busy inspecting sets of armor, trying to decide if it would be worth it to get leather or to stick with one of her spare sets of robes. 

“You should probably go for the armor,” Kitranna advised, coming up behind her as she examined a set on a rack. “It's enchanted, like your robes.”

“Mm,” Morrigan pursed her lips. “And no doubt dwarven enchanters are very good...and if I do not like their work, I could always change it...”

“Exactly.”

Morrigan turned to face her fully. “What have you there?” she asked, spying the mirror in Kitranna's hands.

“Here,” Kitranna said, and handed the mirror over to her. 

Morrigan turned the mirror over in her hands. “...a mirror...?”

Kitranna rubbed the back of her head. “I saw it, and I remembered what you told me, about the mirror you found...”

“It is...just the same as the mirror which Flemeth smashed on the ground...” Morrigan turned it over and over, entranced. “So long ago...” she looked up at Kitranna. “It is incredible you found one just like it! …I am uncertain what to say...”

“You don't—you don't have to say anything, if you don't want to,” Kitranna assured her. “I just thought it would be nice.”

“You must wish something in return, certainly,” Morrigan said, her tone more businesslike. 

“No, no!” Kitranna said, holding up her hands. “It's a present. That means you don't have to give me one back.”

Morrigan blinked at her. “I have...never received a gift,” she admitted. “Not one that did not also come with a price attached.” she smiled. “But I would be a fool not to accept such a gesture with grace. Your gift is most thoughtful. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Kitranna smiled at her. “I'll leave you to it—or you can come with me. I have to go find Culwydd.”

“She is still with the healers,” Morrigan said, pocketing the mirror and following Kitranna out of the armory.

“I knew that,” Kitranna said. “But I need to pull her away. We can't stay here forever—we have to be moving on.”

“I could not agree more,” Fiona came hurrying up beside them in the hall.

“Fiona!” Kitranna exclaimed. “Good to see you.”

Fiona gave a sharp nod of her head. “I see that when left alone for a few weeks, you decide to completely upturn Orzammar's government.”

“Yeah. Well, Culwydd did.”

“Are you going to see her now?”

“Yeah. Have you met her yet?”

Fiona shook her head. “She has been busy. Evidently the Deep Roads took a toll on her.”

“More than a simple toll...” Morrigan muttered.

“I am not surprised. We are fortunate that she has not lost her mind. That can happen.”

“Believe me, we know,” Kitranna said, exchanging a look with Morrigan. “Anyway, you can hear all about it when we meet with her.”

They found Culwydd, surrounded by healers. Zevran was with her, as was Wynne, although Wynne's attentions were more focused on collaboration with the other healers at the moment. 

“Warden!” Culwydd said, spotting them. “...Wardens,” she corrected, spotting Fiona. “You are Warden Fiona, yes?”

Fiona nodded. “I am.”

Culwydd stood up, and waved away her healer. “You have a great deal of work to do,” she told Kitranna. “As do I.”

Kitranna nodded. “Yeah, we need to get going soon,” she agreed. “How's the Assembly taken you appointment so far?”

“The shock hasn't worn off yet,” Culwydd said. 

“I am sure they will voice their displeasure soon,” Zevran said.

“Yes, that's quite likely.”

“Before we go, there's someone you should meet,” Kitranna told Culwydd. 

“Who is that?”

“Weird woman named Dagna,” Kitranna explained. “She waved me down in the street when we were still doing errands for Bhelen. Wanted to join the Circle of Magi.”

Culwydd furrowed her brow. “But...dwarves cannot do magic...”

“That's what I said!” Kitranna said. 

“That's the redheaded miner's daughter, isn't she?” Fiona said.

“Yeah,” Kitranna said. “And you need her,” she pointed at Culwydd.

Culwydd blinked. “Why?”

“Because I think Orzammar should have someone who knows how magic works,” Kitranna said. “Think about it—that Anvil thing was magic, right?”

Culwydd furrowed her brow. “It certainly seemed that way,” she said, stroking her chin. “It wasn't simply a normal enchanted object, I have seen those before...”

“I thought it was blood magic, when I heard of its uses,” Wynne pointed out. 

“And if dwarves truly cannot use magic, that makes no sense,” Culwydd said. “This Dagna woman, she wants to study with the Circle of Magi?”

“Yeah,” Kitranna said. “But I don't think she should.”

“Why not?”

“Because the Circle's not a good place to learn magic.”

Culwydd tilted her head to one side. “Isn't it? It is called the Circle of Magi, that must be for a reason--”

“It is a long story,” Zevran said. “But according to our resident Circle mages, the Circle would not be a good place for any scholar to actually learn things in.”

Wynne frowned. “Simply because your experience of the Circle was a poor one--”

“Wynne, the Calenhad Circle got filled with demons and half of the mages died,” Kitranna said bluntly. “And the Chantry doesn't like dwarves anyway. Is that really a good environment for learning?”

“Filled with demons?” Culwydd exclaimed.

“Another long story,” Kitranna said. “Look, I still think you should meet with Dagna anyway. Knowing more about magic can only be helpful, right?”

“You bring up a good point,” Culwydd said. “And I saw many things in the Deep Roads that may have been magic, and it is true we lost much of our lore and knowledge when the Darkspawn attacked us.” she sighed and shook her head. “The Shaperate claims a great deal of knowledge, but the truth is, they know very little, and are quite stubborn about anything that challenges their views.” she began to pace. “Our isolationism doesn't help matters...”

“Alright, great,” Kitranna said. She tapped her chin. “Uh—I was wondering, would you think it would be a bad idea to let an apostate stay here?”

Everyone glanced at her. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my friend Jowan, one of the people who came with us—he's an apostate, hunted by the Templars, but, well...he's not exactly a warrior,” she said. 

“You wish to leave Jowan here?” Morrigan said. 

“I just thought of it,” Kitranna said. “I'd have to ask him, but I figured maybe he'd be safe from the Templars down here. And everyone else.”

“Well, I don't mind, as long as he's not a criminal,” Culwydd said.

Everyone winced, and Culwydd sighed.

“What did he do?”

“Poisoned an Arl,” Kitranna grimaced. “Arl Eamon.” at Culwydd's expression, she hastily added “but he only did it because otherwise Loghain would have turned him in to the Templars, and they would have killed him, or made him Tranquil, or sent him to Aeonar!”

“Please understand that I only have context for roughly half of that sentence,” Culwydd said. “But he poisoned the Arl because he was being...blackmailed?”

“Yeah.”

Culwydd rubbed her chin. “Well, technically, he's never committed a crime here,” she said. “Murder is a very serious--”

“Oh, the Arl's not dead,” Kitranna added. “He's still ill, as far as we know, but not dead.”

“And it would be no great loss if he was,” Fiona grumbled. 

“Attempted murder, then,” Culwydd said. “That is very serious, but if he was being blackmailed...well, I'd have to talk to him first, but I suppose he could stay here. As a favor to you, if nothing else.”

“Thanks,” Kitranna said. “I'll go talk to him about it—he might not even want to stay here.”

Kitranna went to find Jowan while Culwydd went to meet with Dagna. 

“So, I think I might have a solution to a lot of your problems,” Kitranna announced to Jowan, locating him in a back room at the Palace.

“That's a fine greeting,” Jowan said. “I mean, not that it's a bad thing, but I haven't even seen you for weeks, and--”

Kitranna sighed. “Look, Jowan, I talked with Culwydd--”

“The Queen?”

“Yes, the Queen, and I asked her if you could stay here, in Orzammar.”

Jowan paused. “...what did she say?”

“She said you could.”

Jowan knotted his fingers together. "I don't know..."

"Think about it!" Kitranna urged. "The Templars wouldn't come here, and not Loghain's men either. You'd be safe. I bet there's even fewer demons around here, because of all the dwarves."

"I don't think that's how that works," Jowan said. "But--it sounds like a good idea. I can hardly be on the run forever, and I don't really hold with all the fighting you and your friends do." he grimaced. 

"That's settled then," Kitranna clapped him on the shoulder. "Go talk to Culwydd about it, and when we leave you can stay here, safe."

 

Culwydd found Dagna in a small audience room near the front of the Palace. The dwarrowdam jumped to her feet when she saw her. 

“Your Majesty!” she said. “I—I thought Warden Surana—I'm sorry, I'm Dagna, of House--”

Culwydd held up a hand, and Dagna stopped. “Warden Surana advised me to meet with you,” she said. “None of my current Assembly know the first thing about magic—although there is an Enchanter here and there.”

Dagna nodded eagerly.

“But you are the first dwarf I've ever met who has an interest in magic like what the Surfacers use.” she began to pace. “That's useful. I saw many things in the Deep Roads—terrible things and marvelous things. Mostly bad, but what being in the Roads convinced me of more than anything is that Orzammar cannot continue as it has.”

“Why not?” Dagna asked. 

“We know so little compared to our ancestors,” Culwydd explained. “Lost houses and families and entire methods of smithing, or building, even farming or sewing! We have lost enormous parts of our history and our heritage, and our current isolationism, the way we insist on clinging to old rules and locking ourselves inside the city—well, it won't get any of that back. The only way to do that is to move forward.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“If you choose to study at the Circle of Magi, as Warden Surana told me you wished to,” Culwydd said. “You will be granted permission to retain your House and family name.” she rubbed her chin. “But Warden Surana also said that the Circle may not be the best choice to study at. Two of her other mage companions agreed.”

“Then where should I go?”

“I am not sure,” Culwydd admitted. “I don't think it would be a bad idea to go to the Circle—in fact I think you should, even if it is a bad school, so you may find any knowledge about magic you can. But if you are truly invested in this--”

“I am!” Dagna said. “I've been packed for weeks—my father didn't want me to go to the surface, but I want to, even if I lose my name!”

“Then I am sure that it will please both you and your family if you go as an official researcher, appointed by me,” Culwydd said.

Dagna gaped. "Really?” she exclaimed.

“Yes. Really.”

Dagna thanked her profusely and proclaimed her desire to go to the Circle. Culwydd advised her to talk to Kitranna about it, and told her to meet with some of the Palace's secretaries and the minister of foreign affairs and they parted ways. Culwydd met with the Assembly, who were still in shock about the entire thing, so for now they were agreeable when Culwydd declared her intent to immediately give the Wardens Orzammar's military support. Kitranna, Alistair and Fiona all arrived at the meeting as well, and within a few hours they had a plan hammered out. 

The Orzammar military would meet at Redcliffe, where the Wardens' Ferelden support was. They would also send missives to Clan Leanvunlas, who was leading the organization of Ferelden Dalish Clans. 

Kitranna made it known that the Dalish Clans would probably only send a few representatives to Redcliffe—they still had the Dalish support, but they were extremely wary of humans. Likewise, the Circle of Magi would send the support they could spare, but since the Ferelden Circle had taken such heavy losses, it was unlikely that they could spare many. 

It was suggested that perhaps the Wardens' force could meet in Orzammar rather than Redcliffe, but due to how remote the gates of Orzammar were, the idea was discarded. It was already winter, and entering the Frostbacks would be extremely difficult, especially for a mage who may be ill-prepared or a Dalish Clan that needed to take care of more vulnerable members of their Clan. So, Redcliffe it was. 

The Assembly had been forced to dust off the treaties they held with Ferelden, and decided to try and avoid involvement in Ferelden's political squabbles. Their alliance was strictly to the Gray Wardens, with the express goal of defeating the Archdemon and limiting the amount of damage the Darkspawn could do. 

It was at this meeting that Culwydd brought up Dagna, and the Assembly was split on the matter. Half of them thought it was a useless exercise, but the other half saw the potential in it. If nothing else, developing a better relationship with the primary buyers of lyrium wasn't half-bad an idea. 

After that, Kitranna's people cleaned up a bit more, but then had to be on their way. They were going to Haven to try and meet with Brother Genitivi, with possibly a quick stop at Cadash Thaig for Shale's benefit. 

“Are you sure about this?” Jowan asked Kitranna while she packed.

“About what?”

“Couldn't you just let Alistair and Fiona go and hunt the Archdemon?” he asked. “You could stay here...I'm sure the Templars would never think to look for you here.”

Kitranna shook her head. "I have to go," she said. "I can't just let Alistair and Fiona take the Archdemon on--I have to help."

"But _why?_ "

Kitranna snorted. "Because I want the bloody job done _right,_ " she said. "And anyway--what happens if they die and I'm not there? It'd be a disaster."

"I suppose so," Jowan said. "But I'll miss you."

Kitranna smiled and patted Jowan on the arm, shouldering her pack. "I'll miss you too," she assured him. "But you'll be safe here. Don't worry--I'm sure I'll kill the thing before you know it."

Jowan grinned. "You probably will," he agreed.

Culwydd had to admit, she was disappointed. She hovered over Zevran while he packed. 

“Must you leave?” Culwydd asked wistfully. Zevran opened his mouth, but Culwydd cut him off. “No, no, I know the answer,” she sighed. 

“I did swear my service to our fair Wardens,” he told her. 

“I know,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. He touched her hand and gave her a brief smile.

“If the Archdemon is killed, and the Darkspawn are driven back, and you and I are not dead, then I shall come back here,” Zevran promised. 

“You will?”

“Why should I not? The Crows do not want me, and I am sure even if dear Surana wished me dearly to stay by her side, I could give her the slip.” he turned and put his arms around her. 

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist (the tallest she could reach). “Why do I get the feeling you like me for being able to help you escape the Crows?”

“Well, there are other things as well,” he chuckled. 

“Come back to Orzammar, and I'll keep those Crows off your back,” she said. “And any Gray Wardens, should they become a problem.”

Zevran raised his eyebrows. “Kitranna has been a friend so far,” he assured her. “You've traveled with her, you know her.”

"Yes, but _you're_ the one I've been with. _She_ was making doe eyes at her witch friend the whole time.”

“That she was,” Zevran inclined his head. “I am not sure that is a good decision, but, it is not really my business.”

“If you do not come back, I will be unhappy,” Culwydd assured him. “At least send me a letter.”

“That, I shall do,” Zevran said with a smile. He paused, his expression faltering for a minute.

“What's the matter?”

“I—well, we have become attached quite quickly, have we not?” he said. 

“Is that worrisome?”

“You did spend a great deal of time alone,” he pointed out. “I—worry that perhaps I am a friendly face, and you will—well I am sure you will come to your senses--”

“Worried that I latched on to the first face I saw?” she said. “Well, I did, in a sense.”

Zevran paused. “...at least you are aware of it?”

“Zevran, I was down there, in the caves, with the Darkspawn, for—I don't know how long. It felt like forever.” her face darkened. “But then, I saw you—Surana, Morrigan, Wynne, even Oghren—and it was like—like--” she shook her head. “I saw all of you, the first living people I had seen in ages, and—well,” she shrugged helplessly. “There was you.”

“And what is it about me that is so...fascinating? Besides the obvious, of course.”

“You wanted me to help,” she said. “You _wanted_ me to come back to Orzammar. Imagine that—someone wants me to come back, and it's a pretty Surfacer elf.” she held his hands tightly. “I went half-crazy down there,” she said. “Anyone would. But you—you're so far from any Darkspawn, any Deep Road—you're _real_. Sometimes I worry that this—this is all some elaborate dream, that I've completely gone round the bend, but—well, I could never imagine anyone like you.”

He blinked, then smiled. “I am here to help, of course,” he said. “And I am glad I could do so.” he reached out and touched her face. “But—I...” he paused. “How am I to know I am not...perhaps taking advantage of you?” he admitted softly.

“You're not,” she assured him. 

“But I--” he bit his lip. “You were wounded, in the Deep Roads, and what if—surely there is someone else you could—whose company you could--” he closed his eyes. “What if—by—doing what we are, I wound you further?”

“You could never hurt me,” she told him, tilting his cheek to face her. 

“But I have hurt people I love before,” he told her. “What if I do it to you as well? I could not.”

“Then you won't,” she said, the corners of her mouth tightening. 

“What if I betray you?” he asked again. “What if--”

“You speak as if you have no will of your own!” she said. “Which I know is not the case—you certainly have a will.”

“Of course I do,” he said. “But...”

“What is it?” she asked. “Why does this worry you so?”

He hesitated. “There is a reason I accepted the mission to assassinate the Wardens,” he said. “It was far away from home—further than I had ever gone, but it had nothing to do with any thought that I might leave the Crows. Meeting Surana—meeting you—was quite an accident. The mission I took with the Crows before coming to Ferelden—it did not end well.” he looked away from her. 

“What happened?”

“I had made a bid for an incredibly difficult mark, and it was accepted,” he explained. “Taliesen, a Crow I have worked with before, agreed to be part of my team, as well as another lass I did not know named Rinna.” he sighed and tilted his head back. “She was...a marvel. Tough, smooth, wicked. Eyes that gleamed like justice.”

Culwydd raised her eyebrows. “She sounds like someone I would want to know.” she paused. “What happened to her?”

“Rinna was special,” he said. “I had closed off my heart to others, I had thought, but she touched something inside me.” lightly, he brushed his chest. “It frightened me.” he closed his eyes. “Taliesen revealed to me that Rinna had accepted a bribe from one of our targets, told him of our plan. I readily agreed that she should pay the price and I allowed Taliesen to kill her.”

“But she hadn't done it, had she?” Culwydd asked quietly. 

“Rinna begged me not to,” he whispered. “She told me that she loved me, that she had not betrayed me. I laughed in her face and said that even if that were true, I did not care.”

Culwydd was silent.

“Taliesen cut her throat and I watched her bleed as she looked up at me. I spat on her for betraying the Crows.” Zevran's mouth twisted. “When Taliesen and I killed the target, we found the true source of the information. Rinna had not betrayed us after all.”

Culwydd narrowed her eyes in thought. “Did Taliesen know this?” she asked. “Did he lie to you?”

“I...don't know,” Zevran admitted. “I wished to tell the Crows, but he convinced me not to. He said it would be a foolish waste.” he shook his head. “But it did not matter. The Crows knew what we had done—but they did not care. They told us so.”

“But—if they knew that...” Culwydd wrapped her hand tightly around one of Zevran's wrists. “Would they have known that she didn't betray you?”

“I really do not know,” Zevran said. 

“Why would they even tell you something like that? Was it against the rules, to kill another Crow?” 

“No,” he said. “They told us—to rub it in our faces, perhaps. That we were nothing. That me, Taliesen, Rinna—we were nothing.” he let go of her hands, stepped back. “I loved Rinna—and she died because of me. Perhaps it was Taliesen who wielded the knife, but I did not stop him.”

“You thought she betrayed you,” Culwydd said. “Someone you trusted told you that she had betrayed you.” one of her hands curled into a fist and she scowled. “Oh, I know what that's like.” she looked up at Zevran. “Perhaps Taliesen didn't betray you like Bhelen did me—but the result is the same. My brother is dead. Your Rinna is dead. It is our fault, our responsibility.” she moved closer, her hands out. “But you will not hurt me, by being with me. I will not allow it.”

He hesitated, then took her hands again. “I am sure you would not,” he said eventually.

She nodded. “Good. So, you will come back to me?”

“If I am not eaten by an Archdemon, I will try.”

“I am glad.”


	18. Krioboly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on to cultists and weirdos as our heroes head to haven!

After the heat of Orzammar, the mountains were colder than ever before. They were headed south to Cadash Thaig, which, according to Caridin, had been Shale's old home once. Shale wished to see it. 

Oghren didn't much care for the surface—the cold and the open sky didn't agree with him. He got used to it after a while, however, and everyone's mind was occupied with travel. It was late in the year, and the snow was much heavier than they had been when they had first gone down to Orzammar. 

Cadash Thaig was available from the surface. There was an entrance to it, a broken gate that had been pushed through either by Darkspawn or graverobbers or both. 

The Thaig was far greener than Orzammar, sunlight seeping in through holes in the stone ceiling high overhead. Although some snow had gotten in, it was moss-covered and even a tree or two grew upon the stone. It was filled with deepstalkers, though those were easy enough to dispatch. They wandered for some time until they found an enormous, mossy stone that stood at the foot of an even larger statue, like a monument. Shale stopped at it.

“What is this?” Shale peered at the stone. “This...this I remember. It has dates, and names—this is to honor those who volunteered, those who became golems.” Shale let out a gasp. “And there is my name! Shayle of House Cadash—just as Caridin said.”

Kitranna looked at the stone, but couldn't read the writing upon it, being in older dwarven text as it was.

“I remember now,” Shale said. “I remember Shayle—that—was me.”

“That sounds good,” Kitranna said. “Is it good?”

“Good?” Shale turned to her. “Good to remember being a soft, squishy creature of flesh? Perhaps. I will need to think on these things I have learned—for now, let us carry on.”

They retrieved some potentially useful artifacts from the site, and then continued on. Shale was impossible to read, but Kitranna hoped that the visit had helped them in some way. They didn't say much, but Shale seemed content.

The town of Haven was quiet.

The mountain village was very out of the way, Leliana's maps showing that it was several miles away from even the most remote trading outposts. It was almost on the Orlesian border. The path they traveled was the most narrow of roads through the mountains, and it was dusted over with a light layer of snow from the most recent flurry. They were lucky that they hadn't had to break an entirely new path. 

The town sat in the shadow of a tall mountain, cold and foreboding. The Veil warped and thinned the closer they got—not as bad as it had been near Redcliffe, or in the Brecelian or Lake Calenhad, but it was definitely being affected by something. 

They got to the head of the path, and someone was there to greet them. A village guard, dressed in battered armor. He was tall enough to be a human, but his ears were covered so they couldn't be positive.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

"Well,” Kitranna said, raising her eyebrows. “That's really friendly.”

“There's nothing for you here,” the guard said, folding his arms.

“Is this not the village of Haven?” Leliana asked. 

“It is,” the guard said. “Why?”

“We are here—passing through,” Leliana said quickly. “We are travelers. We have gotten off-track and we knew this was the closest village to us.”

The guard narrowed his eyes. “You may trade for supplies at the shop if you wish,” he said slowly. “But then you'd best be on your way.”

“Did it just get a lot colder, or is it just me?” Alistair muttered. 

“Observant as ever,” Morrigan muttered back.

“Hush, you two,” Fiona hissed. 

They passed the guard, heading into the main town. It was very quiet, with very few villagers out and about. 

Zevran smirked. “Ah, quiet, insular communities,” he said. “Always something nasty going on behind closed doors.”

“Is that a universal thing, or just your experience?” Kitranna asked.

“Can it not be both?”

Despite the fact that, thanks to the dwarves, their supplies were in good shape, they still patronaged the local shop. The store was a broken-down, ramshackle building that was more of a shack than an actual store.

“Who are you?” the shopkeeper asked immediately when Kitranna went up to the counter. “You're not from Haven.”

Kitranna blinked. “...surely you've had travelers before?” she asked.

The shopkeeper glanced at their group, peering at them with beady eyes. “Of course,” she said. “But not nearly so many...or so...” she looked at their armor, her eyes lingering on Oghren and Shale and the elves. “...unusual.”

Kitranna decided to cut to the chase. “Have you seen a man called Brother Genitivi?” she asked. 

The shopkeeper shook her head quickly. “No, no, I don't know anyone by that name,” she said. 

“You're sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. Did you want to buy something or not?”

They left, as the shopkeeper didn't have much in the way of supplies. They wandered around the village some more. It was still extremely quiet, in a way that made the hair on the back of everyone's neck stand up. 

“This place is...odd,” Fiona said, her lips pursed.

“ _Very_ strange,” Leliana said in a quiet voice. 

“Where is everyone?” Alistair asked. “It's the middle of the day, shouldn't more people be out?”

“Perhaps we can ask at the Chantry where the Brother is,” Leliana suggested, nodding at the shadow of a Chantry up the mountain.

“Are you sure?” Kitranna asked. “Aren't these the people who sent the assassins?”

“I do not think the entire village would have done that,” Leliana said.

“Do not underestimate the force of religious zealotry,” Morrigan said. 

“Well, we could ask anyway,” Leliana said. “We will get nowhere unless we do so.”

Kitranna shrugged. "Why not?" she said. "That's a fair point."

So, they went to the Chantry, and found something they didn't really expect.

A service was being held, lead by a bearded man in what looked like scavenged Chasind robes, which was extremely odd in and of itself. 

“...we are blessed beyond measure,” the man was saying. “We are chosen by the Holy and beloved by her guardians. This sacred duty is given to us alone. Rejoice, my brethren, and prepare your hearts to receive Her.”

Many people were packed into the Chantry, presumably the villagers. Kitranna and her group came in behind them, and the man spotted them.

“Ah, welcome,” he said, and the villagers turned as one to look at them. “I heard we had a stranger wandering about the village. I trust you've enjoyed your time in Haven so far?”

“It's...a quiet place,” Kitranna said, glancing at her compatriots. “Very quiet.” she shifted from foot to foot, feeling the eyes of the villagers upon her. “Is there somewhere we could speak in private? It's important.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Say what you wish to say among the people,” he told her. “There is nothing that they cannot hear.”

Kitranna rubbed her forehead. “Look,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “This is kind of...sensitive.”

The man didn't waver. 

Leliana stepped in. “We are looking for a Brother Genitivi,” she said, in as sweet a voice as she could summon. “Perhaps you could tell us--”

At the mention of Genitivi's name, the villagers and the man all attacked at once. Given that they were villagers and not darkspawn, demons or soldiers, the fight was over very quickly.

“What was that about?” Alistair exclaimed, staring out over the crowd of villagers. Some were dead, others were wounded and glowering, but incapacitated.

Leliana sighed and shook her head. “It is much worse than I thought,” she said. “Come—we must search and see what we can uncover about this place.”

They looked about the Chantry, and found nothing excessively out of the ordinary—until Leliana uncovered a secret door. The door slid aside and lead into a chamber at the back of the Chantry, where a man was tied to a chair. 

“Who...who are you?” the man said, blinking at them blearily. One eye was almost swollen shut, and Wynne was immediately at his side with a healing spell. “You're...you're not with them,” he breathed as Wynne cut his bonds to begin treating his wounds.

“We certainly are not,” Wynne said, touching his face. His swollen eye began returning to normal. 

“Thank the Maker,” the man said.

“Are you Brother Genitivi?” Kitranna asked.

The man inclined his head. 

“What happened to you?”

“His wounds are severe, Surana,” Wynne said, a frown between her eyebrows. She was looking down at one of his feet, the toes of which were at a strange angle. “Take the weight off your foot,” she instructed. “I think it's broken.”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Genitivi said. “I can't feel it.”

“That's even worse.” she examined his injured leg more closely.

“What's been going on here?” Kitranna asked. “Did you find the Urn? What is wrong with these villagers?”

“They are part of a cult, no?” Leliana said.

Genitivi nodded, and winced when Wynne gave his foot a particularly sharp prod. 

“Good,” Wynne muttered to herself. “You have an infection, but I think I can deal with it...”

“Are you going to cut it off?” Genitivi asked with a grimace.

“No,” Wynne said. “...not right now, anyway.”

“Oh. Good.” he moved, tried to stand up, but Wynne forced him back down.

“Stop that,” she said absently.

“Look, I don't have time to rest now!” Genitivi exclaimed. “The Urn is just up that mountain!”

“The Urn!” Leliana gasped. “So you _have_ found it?”

“My research lead me here,” Genitivi said.

“So it is real after all?”

“I have heard the villagers speaking of it,” Genitivi exclaimed, waving a hand absently. “There is something in the shadow of the mountain—a temple, built to protect the Urn.”

Kitranna nodded. “We have to get there,” she said. “Could you show us where that is, on a map?”

“A map?” Genitivi said. “If you are going, I must come with you!”

“You certainly are not,” Wynne said. “Not with these injuries.”

“It is not so far,” Genitivi insisted. “I can walk there--”

“No,” Wynne said. “I can heal this, but the cold will do you no favors. You need rest, not a mountain trek.”

“What will we find up there, do you think?” Kitranna interjected.

“Perhaps more villagers,” Genitivi told her, glaring at Wynne but making no move to rise. “Many of them are there, on a daily basis.”

“More cultists,” Kitranna growled. 

“If there are cultists, you are certainly not going,” Wynne informed Genitivi.

“But I--”

“No.”

There was a bit more discussion, and Kitranna wasn't all too convinced that there was anything more than a great deal of cultists up on that mountain, but eventually they came to a decision. 

Brother Genitivi would stay behind, with Wynne, Shale and Oghren to ensure that any other hostile villagers would be taken care of, and everyone else would go to the mountain. When the mountain was considered safe, and when Wynne declared Genitivi fit for travel, the others could come up. 

Leliana was excited, but everyone else had their doubts that the Urn even existed. Fiona made doubtful noises and Morrigan outright laughed, but they all did indeed go. There was a path up to the temple that Genitivi spoke of, far more well-trod than the path up to Haven itself. 

The temple made itself known very clearly. A huge, shambling ruin, the Veil became thin and worn as they approached. 

In the bottom of the temple, there were more cultists, who attacked them on sight. There were drakes, as well, and the Veil was so thin that a demon or two had made its way through. Curious spirits pressed close as well, but none of them forced themselves through the Veil, even thin as it was.

They searched the lower floors of the temple, but found nothing but cultists and ruins. The temple had clearly once been grand, but now it was worn and old, like the Deep Roads and the Elvhen burial chambers in the Brecelian. 

“Is there nothing in the world that's _new_?” Kitranna asked, as they came to a huge chamber that must surely have once been grand.

“The world is very old,” Fiona said. “There are things that are new and things that are ancient.”

Kitranna shook her head. “We just keep finding ruins, that's all.”

The cultists were keeping a dragon's nest, deep in the ruins. The drakes attacked them, otherwise they would have left them alone. They continued up through the ruins, but found nothing but more cultists. They did eventually find a group of cultists who did not attack them on sight, and Kitranna took the opportunity to speak with them.

“You have defiled our temple!” the more amiable of the cultists accused. “You have spilled the blood of the faithful and slaughtered our young!”

“You attacked us first,” Kitranna pointed out. 

“Your forced our hand! Tell me, why have you done all this? Why have you come here?”

“We need something we think you have,” Kitranna started, but Leliana stepped in.

“The Urn of Sacred Ashes,” Leliana said. “Do you have it?”

“You did this all for an ancient relic?” The man snapped. “Know this, then, stranger! The prophet Andraste has overcome death, and returned to her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine!”

“She has returned?” Leliana said, taking in a sharp breath. 

“Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay her now! What hope do you have?”

“We would not wish to slay her!” Leliana protested. 

“Why not? You have killed many of us before now!”

“But _you attacked first_ ,” Kitranna insisted. “Look—I'm not here for anyone's religious crises. Honestly, I wouldn't even be here, but there's someone we need to help and we can't do it without the Urn.”

The man snorted. 

“Can we not see this risen Andraste?” Leliana asked urgently. 

“No,” Kitranna snapped. “This is ridiculous.”

“Surana--”

“Look, can we just get to the Urn and get out of here? I'm pretty sure he's lying or crazy.”

Morrigan nodded. “Certainly not very intelligent,” she said. “Are you really taking anything this man says seriously, Leliana?”

“But if he is correct--”

“He is not,” Fiona said. 

“But how do you _know_?”

“Would Andraste send her followers to kill people for her?” Fiona asked.

Leliana fell silent. 

It mattered little, in the end—the cultists were hostile, and they fought against Kitranna and the others, same as the ones before them had. Finally, they came to the end of the ruins, and there was still no Urn. They found themselves outside, and there was another building further up the mountain. Curled up at the peak of the mountain was an enormous, sleeping high dragon. 

“Oh, dear,” Leliana whispered.

“That is a very big dragon,” Kitranna murmured. 

“I suggest we go very quietly,” Fiona said. 

“Haven't you fought a dragon before?” Alistair asked as they very very quietly made their way to the other building. 

“Have you?” the others looked at Fiona in surprise.

Fiona waved a hand, frustrated. “It was a long time ago, and this is not the time for that story!” she hissed. “I shall tell you about it all if we do not get attacked by _this_ dragon!” her Orlesian accent was coming out thicker, a clear indication that she was either stressed or angry. Or both. 

The dragon was sleeping, and stirred slightly as they inched along, but didn't wake. They hurried to the other side of the gap, and entered the new building. 

The building smelled different—dust and ashes and magic, as if someone had been casting spells. The ruins where the cultists had made their home had smelled of smoke and dragonskin, and of people living there. This place was old stone and magic and nothing more. 

They walked up the steps that greeted them, and came into a main hall. There was someone already there, a man in shining plate. 

“I welcome you, pilgrims.” he said as they approached. His voice had a distant, echoing quality, and the Fade warped around him. 

Morrigan clamped her hand down on Kitranna's arm. “A spirit,” she whispered in Kitranna's ear. “Be careful.”

Kitranna nodded. 

“Who are you?” Leliana asked, stepping forward.

“I am the Guardian, protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes.” his eyes gleamed silver, and the Veil continued to sway and thin as he spoke. “I have waited years for this.”

“For what?” Kitranna asked, her brow furrowed.

”For you. You are the first to arrive in a very long time.”

“That cannot be so,” Morrigan protested, tilting her head up and crossing her arms. “What about the cultists? There were a great number of them.”

“They were once my brethren, tasked with guarding Andraste's remains, just as I was,” he said. “For centuries, they did this, unwavering and joyful in their appointed task. But now they have lost their way. They have forgotten Andraste, and their promise.”

“And why should that mean they have never come here?” Morrigan demanded.

“I could not say. They avoid this place; they scorn it. Their dragon seems enough for them.”

“Dragon worshipers,” Morrigan said with a snort. “How very low your order has fallen, to have such a relic guarded by ghosts and those who worship beasts,” she told Leliana. 

Leliana ignored her. “Why are you here?” she asked the spirit.

“It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for those who revere Andraste.”

Morrigan let out a disapproving little noise. 

“For years beyond counting I have been here, and so here I shall remain until my task is done and the Imperium crumbles into the sea.”

“The Imperium?” Kitranna frowned, and glanced at her companions. 

“It is not longer as powerful as it once was,” Fiona told the Guardian, her eyes narrowed. “If your concern is for empires, I would question why you have not kept a better watch on Orlais.”

“Is it truly not so powerful?” the spirit said. “Then perhaps it is the beginning of the end...”

“We must go to the Urn,” Leliana urged. “It is important.”

“If you have come to honor Andraste, you must first prove yourself worthy,” the spirit said. 

“How?”

“It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that.”

Leliana tilted her head to one side. “What is this Gauntlet?”

“A test. If you pass it, you will be allowed to see the Urn and take a pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not...”

Kitranna nodded. “Wait a moment, will you?” she told the spirit, and she turned to her group. “This is ridiculous,” she said.

“No it isn't!” Leliana protested, aghast. 

“Yes it is,” Kitranna said. “That is a spirit, probably absorbed the memories of some dead man, and we really shouldn't be listening to it.”

“It does no harm to merely listen,” Morrigan said, but she sniffed and glanced up at the spirit. “But I agree. This test is a ruse.”

“If that is true, there can be no harm in doing it, can there?” Leliana said.

“Unless it is a trap, of course,” Zevran pointed out.

“Mm,” Morrigan nodded. “A trap laid by a demon to expressly snare adventurers.”

“I feel no demons,” Fiona said. “And believe me—I would know.”

“You are quite sure?” Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “I did not see you anticipating the demons at the Circle.”

Fiona glowered at her. “I did not have to,” she said. “As we were attacked by demons almost immediately, if you recall.”

“Hm,” Morrigan sniffed. “Well, you are the alleged Spirit Healer here.”

“I tell you, that thing is merely a spirit,” Fiona said. “And if we wish to retrieve any ashes from the Urn, we should do as it says.”

“Or, we could take the more practical solution and appoint Bann Teagan as the representative of Redcliffe,” Zevran said. “Something we probably should have done from the start, if I am being honest.”

“No,” Alistair snapped. “We're not doing that.”

“We should go regardless,” Leliana said. “This place is a holy one. I can feel it.”

“Ah, yes, the woman with _no magic_ can sense when something is holy,” Morrigan scoffed. “Perhaps we should have been taking your advice all along—perhaps you could have lead us to the Maker himself!”

“Sneer if you will,” Leliana said. “But I feel it, even if you do not.”

Kitranna rubbed her forehead. “Look, we don't have time to fight over this,” she said. “We've come this far, and...” she sighed. “I don't feel any demons either. Fiona?”

Fiona shook her head.

“Morrigan?”

“Alas, I do not.”

“Great. So why don't we just go ahead and get it over with? Might be fun.”

“I think you have a very strange idea of fun, my friend,” Zevran said with a hesitant glance at the spirit who still guarded the gate. 

“Yeah, well...” Kitranna shrugged, having no excuse. “Let's just go.” she turned to the spirit. “Alright, we're all set. We'll go through your trap—Gauntlet—thing.”

The spirit inclined his head. 

“Before you go, I have a question I must ask of you,” the spirit said. “I see the path that has lead you here, and it is not easy.”

“Oh, wow,” Kitranna said dryly. “Climbing a huge mountain, sneaking past a dragon and dealing with cultists? I couldn't have guessed that would be hard.”

“Surana!” Leliana hissed.

“Look, do I have to answer this question?” Kitranna asked. “I mean, will you bar me from the temple if I don't answer?”

The spirit blinked, and looked a little sad. “You do not have to answer if you do not wish,” he said. 

“Great. Let's go.” Kitranna moved up, but the spirit held out a hand. 

“Simply because you did not answer, does not mean your companions will not.” he said, and looked to Morrigan.

“You, Morrigan. Flemeth's daughter, child of something very, very old. What--”

“Begone, spirit,” Morrigan said with a wave of her hand. “I will not play your games.” she and Kitranna exchanged a smile. 

“Then I will respect your wishes. The Antivan, of the old blood...” the guardian said, turning to Zevran. 

“Oh, is it my turn now?” Zevran raised his eyebrows. “Hurrah. I am so excited.” he paused. “Could I perhaps simply skip the question?”

“You should,” Kitranna said. “Then we can hurry this along.”

“Alright, then I abstain.”

“If that is what you wish,” the spirit said. He turned to Alistair. “Alistair, knight and Warden, born of old blood and magic,” the spirit said.

Fiona stiffened. 

“Fiona, it's fine,” Alistair murmured, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

The Guardian looked at Fiona, then at Alistair again. “You wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don't you, if it should have been you that died, and not him?”

“That's enough,” Fiona snapped, moving in front of Alistair.

Alistair gently moved her aside. “No, really, it's fine,” he insisted.

“I will not have this— _thing_ —interrogate you about something that was not your fault!” Fiona snapped. 

“No, Fiona's...he's right.” Alistair said quietly.

“ _Of course he is_ ,” Fiona said, then stopped cold. “Of course he is,” she said in a gentler tone. “Spirits can see inside your mind.” she glared at the spirit. 

“But I _do_ wonder that,” Alistair said. “If Duncan had been saved, and not me. If I'd just had the chance, maybe...maybe everything would be better...”

“It was not your fault,” Fiona insisted. “You could not possibly stop an entire darkspawn army.” she fixed her glare on the spirit. “Are you satisfied now?”

The spirit looked at her. “Fiona, of ancient blood, wanderer and warrior. You regret--”

“Do not tell me what I regret,” Fiona spat, her Orlesian accent coming out so strongly it was a little hard to understand her. “You have no part of me.”

The spirit inclined his head, and moved on, finally turning to Leliana. 

“And you...” he said. “Why do you know the Maker speaks to you, when all you know is that he has left? He spoke only to Andraste. Do you believe yourself her equal?”

“I never said that!” Leliana exclaimed. “I--”

“In Orlais, you were someone. In Lothering, you feared you would lose yourself. Become a drab Sister and disappear. When your brothers and sisters of the cloister criticized you for what you professed, you were hurt, but you also reveled in it. It made you special. You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative.”

“You're saying that I made it up, for—for the attention!” Leliana was affronted. “I did not! I know what I believe!”

The spirit nodded, and the faintest smile crossed his face. “Good,” he said. “Good. You may pass through the Gauntlet.”

He stood aside, and the door opened by itself, allowing them through.

“Hold one moment,” the spirit said as they went through, and Kitranna turned, exasperated. “There is a terrible storm coming,” the spirit told them. “The world is fraying at the seams, and there are things, dark and terrible, that are awakening from their slumber. Watch for wolves following in your steps.”

“...uh...thanks...” Kitranna said. 

“Wolves?” Fiona murmured.

“Did the spirit in the Brecelian not say something similar?” Zevran asked. 

“She did,” Kitranna confirmed as they walked forward, into the Gauntlet.

“This is most unnerving,” Morrigan said. 

“The Sloth demon in the Circle didn't say anything about wolves, but it mentioned a coming calamity,” Fiona said. 

“The Blight?” Alistair suggested. “I mean, that is pretty bad...” he scratched his head. “But if it was talking about the Blight, why would it say something is coming? The Blight's already here.”

“Perhaps it means something worse,” Leliana said in a hushed voice. “Something more terrible.”

“But what could that be?” Kitranna asked. “What's so bad that all the spirits we've met know about it?”

No one had an answer as they continued deeper into the temple.


	19. Metatonia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the temple of sacred ashes is a hell of a thing

They walked through a long hallway, elegantly carved with white stone and lined with different statues of the same woman—presumably Andraste Herself. At the end of the hall they came to an enormous room, the ceiling so high it vanished into darkness, and the Veil was so thin it made the Fade press down upon them. Strange, transparent figures lined the hall, four on either side, all standing perfectly still. 

“...what do we do now...?” Alistair wondered.

Kitranna frowned. She walked up to the image of one woman, a human in a long dress. 

“ _Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come,_ ” the woman said, her eyes unfocused but her voice clear. “ _Thought's strange sister dwells at night, is swept away by burning light. Of what do I speak?”_

Kitranna had the oddest sense of deja vu and answered with confidence. “Dreams.”

“A dream came upon me as my daughter slept beneath my heart. It told me of her life, her betrayal and death. I am sorrow and regret. I am a mother weeping bitter tears for a daughter she could not save.”

“Wait--” Kitranna started, but the spirit spoke again. 

“Do not regret,” she said. “Do not stay your hand against the storm.” then she burst into a shower of light, and disappeared.

“Are they all riddles?” Alistair wondered, staring at the other spirits. “What happens if we get the wrong answer?”

“We'll probably die,” Kitranna said.

“Oh, did you really need to say that?”

Leliana was looking at the place where the spirit had been. “Was that Andraste's mother?” she wondered. “Was that really her, or...just a spirit, who took her face?”

“A spirit who took her face,” Morrigan said. 

“That is the most likely answer,” Fiona said. 

Leliana looked troubled. 

“Come on,” Kitranna said. “Let's see if we can get the next one.”

The next spirit was that of an elvhen man, armed, dressed in rogue's armor. He was bald and had a long, crooked nose. 

“ _I'd neither a guest, nor a trespasser be, in this place I belong, that belongs also to me_.” he said. his voice was soft and slow. “ _Of what do I speak?”_

Kitranna and her companions glanced at each other as Kitranna thought. 

“Home,” said Fiona after a minute. “You speak of a home.”

The man closed his eyes and let out a sigh. _“It was my dream for the People to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves,”_ he said. _“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste against the Imperium.”_ he looked down. _“But she was betrayed, and so were we.”_

His eyes met Kitranna's. “ _Something comes, kinswoman_ ,” he told her, his voice harsh now, and faster. “ _Be vigilant. Something is coming._ ”

“What--”

He looked away, and his shape was illuminated with white light, and his figure burst into a thousand tiny stars, like the human woman.

“Alright, this is getting weird,” Kitranna said.

“What possible purpose could these spirits have for giving us these arcane warnings?” Morrigan wanted to know. 

“I could not be sure, but I believe the Fade is affected by the Blights, as the physical world is,” Fiona said. “The connection is not well studied, but I do recall reading histories and texts that speak of many more demon attacks occurring during Blights.”

“But this isn't a demon attack,” Kitranna said. “It's—I don't know what it is.”

“If anything could affect the Fade, it would be an Archdemon,” Morrigan said. 

They went on to the next spirit, a human man with a long white beard. He too was dressed in armor, but heavier than the elf's had been. 

“A poison of the soul, passion's cruel counterpart,” the man said, his voice creaking with age. “From love she grows, till love lies slain. Of what do I speak?”

It was Leliana who spoke this time. “Jealousy,” she said.

“ _Yes_ ,” the spirit said. “ _Jealousy drove me to betrayal. I was the greatest general of the Almarri, but beside Her, I was nothing. Hundreds fell before Her on bended knee. They loved Her, as did the Maker. I loved Her too, but what man can compare with a god?_ ”

He let out a long breath. “ _Be wary_ ,” he said. “ _We were never the first ones to this land._ ”

He vanished in a bright white light.

“Are these spirits completely incapable of giving a straight answer?” Morrigan demanded. 

“It would appear so,” Zevran said. “Although I would think that anyone who spoke in riddles was averse to straight answers.”

The next spirit was a man in old-fashioned Tevinter mage robes. _“She wields the broken sword_ ,” he said, his voice clearer than the old man. “ _Then separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?”_

“Mercy,” Alistair said. “You're talking about mercy.”

_“Yes,_ ” the man said. _“I could not bear the sight of Andraste's suffering, and thus mercy made me end Her life. I am the penitent sinner, who shows compassion as he hopes it will be shown to him.”_ he looked up, towards the ceiling. _“You can only hope the storm will be merciful, when it comes._ ”

_“Why?”_ Kitranna demanded, but the spirit burst into sparks. Kitranna growled in frustration. She threw up her hands. “Storms, wolves, old things--” she cursed. “This is ridiculous.”

“We're halfway done, come on,” Alistair said, pointing at the other side of the room. Indeed, there were four more spirits still left. 

“What these spirits say...it is not how I remember the Chant being,” Leliana said, rubbing her arms. “Not exactly.”

“How d'you mean?” Alistair asked, while Morrigan rolled her eyes. 

“I remember no elves from the Chant,” Leliana said. “I—I know many things were changed, but...”

“You have been reading the modern Chant,” Fiona said, her lips pursed. “Surely you know of Shartan?”

“Yes, but--”

“Yes, but they changed him to a human after the Exalted March on the Dales,” Fiona sighed and shook her head.

Leliana sighed as well. “I had read that,” she admitted. “But I was not sure. I do not know all of the Chant's history.”

“I have more access than most,” Fiona said. “The Canticle of Shartan is one widely ignored by the Chantry.”

“The Orlesians removed it to justify their attack on the Dales, I believe,” Morrigan said, and everyone glanced at her. “What?” she put her hands on her hips. 

“Since when do you know anything about the Chant?” Alistair asked. 

“Flemeth could hardly avoid it, could she?” Morrigan retorted.

“What else is different?” Fiona asked Leliana.

“Andraste's husband seemed much sadder than I thought he would be,” Leliana said. “I always thought he would be hateful and angry. He was the one who betrayed her, who let her be killed. But he was just...sad.” she cast her eyes down on the ground. “Come, let us move on.”

The next spirit was a human man in an outdated Chantry uniform.

_“No man has seen it, but all men know it,_ ” he said. His voice, like that of the man in the Tevinter robes, was strong. _“Lighter than air, sharper than any sword. Comes from nothing, but will fell the strongest armies. Of what do I speak?”_

“Ah,” Zevran said, raising his head. “Hunger is the answer you are looking for.”

_“Yes_ ,” the man said. _“Hunger was the weapon used against the wicked men of the Tevinter Imperium. The Maker kindled the sun's fire, scorching the land. Their crops failed, and their armies could not march. Then he opened the heavens and bade the waters flow, and washed away their filth. I saw these things done, and knew the Maker smiled on us.”_ he closed his eyes. _“But now there are other hands at work. Something that moves behind the sun.”_

Like the others, he vanished. 

The next spirit as also dressed in archaic Chantry garb.

_“The bones of the world stretch towards the sky's embrace. Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what do I speak?”_

“What you seek to illustrate, via your truly inane couplet, is the mountains,” Morrigan said, her arms folded. 

Leliana glared at her, but the spirit took no offense.

_“Yes_ ,” he said. _“I carried Andraste's ashes out of Tevinter, into the mountains to the south, where she could ever gaze into her Maker's sky. No more fitting a tomb than this could we find.”_ he looked out, over their heads. _“But no tomb lasts forever, and even the mountains are worn down. All things have their turn, and there are things that will come back, even beyond the veil of death.”_

“That doesn't sound good,” Alistair said. The spirit met his eyes, then collapsed into brilliant dust. 

The next spirit was a woman, in Chasind armor. She had red hair and the strong nose of someone with elvhen blood in their line.

_“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,_ ” she spat, her voice angrier than that of all the others so far. _“The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?”_

“Vengeance,” Kitranna sighed. “I'm going to lose my mind if I hear any more of this,” she muttered to herself.

_“Yes,_ ” the spirit said, ignoring her second comment. _“My husband, Hessarian, would have chosen a quick death for Andraste. I made him swear that she would die publicly with her war-leaders, that all would know the Imperium's strength. I am justice. I am vengeance. Blood can only be repaid in blood._ ” she tilted her head up. _"Remember that, when the time comes.”_

She vanished into light, and Leliana let out a breath.

“Hessarian's wife!” she exclaimed. “I knew nothing at all about her—the Chant speaks mostly of Hessarian...”

“I've never heard of her either,” Alistair said. “You'd think they'd've mentioned her before.” he looked at the space where the spirit had stood. 

“There are a great many things simply lost to time,” Fiona said. “Even if not directly changed—perhaps the story of Hessarian overtook the part his wife played.”

“Perhaps,” Leliana said, her expression troubled. 

They moved on to the last spirit, a small, dark woman in a tattered dress. 

_“The smallest lark can carry it, while a strong man might not,_ ” she said. _“Of what do I speak?”_

“A song!” Leliana said.

_“Yes!_ ” the spirit said. _“I was Andraste's dearest friend in childhood, and always we would sing. She celebrated the beauty of life, and all who heard her would be filled with joy. They say the Maker Himself was moved by Andraste's song, and then she sang no more of simple things.”_ the spirit looked sorrowful, and she reached out to touch Leliana's shoulder. _“Listen,”_ she said, and Leliana stood frozen. _“The world sends you a warning, woven into song.”_

Then she moved back, and vanished into light, like the rest of them. 

“Alright,” Kitranna said, rubbing the back of her head. “What's next?”

The door at the end of the chamber opened, and they moved towards that. 

They came to the end of the corridor they walked down, and were faced with a row of spirits, facing each of them, all different people. A shade of Duncan stood in front of Alistair, and an elvhen woman stood opposite Zevran. Flemeth was in front of Morrigan. An unfamiliar human woman was in front of Leliana and a man before Fiona. 

And before Kitranna stood Jowan.

“Like the riddle room?” he asked her. 

Kitranna put her hands on her hips. “Jowan is just fine in Orzammar,” she scolded the spirit. “Stop that right now.”

The spirit frowned. “That is not--”

Fiona blasted the person opposite her with a spell meant to disperse demons.

“And the negotiations have now completely broken down,” Kitranna said, fingering her weapon. 

“No, that actually made sense,” Jowan said. “We probably shouldn't have tried that.” None of the other spirits were dispersed, but the man who had stood in front of Fiona was gone now. 

Kitranna suddenly realized that she couldn't hear what the others were saying, although both Leliana and Zevran were engaging with their spirits. Zevran looked upset, and Leliana had a blade out. 

“'We?'” she asked. “Who's we?” She glanced to her other side—Alistair's eyes were red, but Morrigan merely rolled her eyes and cast an irritated look over to Kitranna. 

“Can't tell all our secrets, can I?” he said with a smile. The more she looked at him, the less the spirit resembled Jowan, his face going blurry at the edges. 

“Why not?”

“Because you need to keep going.” he stood aside, and sound returned to the group (Kitranna caught the end of some Orlesian cursing from Fiona, but she quickly stopped). The other spirits vanished.

“That was ridiculous and sentimental,” Morrigan sniffed. 

“I did not appreciate that,” Leliana muttered. 

Fiona was breathing hard through her nose. “I would not call it sentimental,” she hissed, her accent thicker than normal. 

“Let's move on,” Kitranna said.

The next room was...unexpected. 

They entered it an Kitranna immediately found herself faced with herself, wielding a blade like her own, that crackled with lightning.

Kitranna barely brought her blade up in time. Her shade slammed her blade down on Kitranna's. The shade grinned, teeth flashing in the dim light of the Temple. 

“You've gone all wrong,” she hissed. 

Kitranna pushed the shade back, flung a spell at it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alistair locked in a similar battle with his own doppelganger, and saw a flash of magic. Kitranna's double dodged the spell and came after her again. 

“You know they're right,” she whispered, her voice echoing in Kitranna's ears. “You know you won't win.” she pushed forward and Kitranna was locked body-to-body with her. “How could you? Witch. Mage. Knife-eared _demon._ ”

Kitranna breathed out hard through her nose and gritted her teeth. 

“You don't deserve this,” the doppelganger whispered in Kitranna's ear. “You don't deserve to be here. Failure. You know the Maker turns his back on things like you.”

Kitranna snarled wordlessly and shoved the double away, then froze her with an ice spell. Well—almost froze her. She broke free, but someone slammed into her—either Zevran or Zevran's shade, Kitranna couldn't tell which, so she was forced to hold off on attacking until the two disentangled themselves. 

Kitranna's double sent a spell hurtling at Kitranna, which she deflected, but then the shade was slamming her sword down again. 

“Real cute,” Kitranna snarled, calling on her Arcane Warrior strength. “I like this new turn.”

“You think you're as good as the ancient warriors?” the shade smirked. “You think you _deserve_ that strength?”

Kitranna's heart pounded in her chest, and she landed a blow on the double, cutting open her arm. 

The double ignored the injury. “They'll take you back to the Circle,” her eyes were wide, manic. “If you don't die against the Darkspawn—which you probably will—they'll drag you back, lock you up again--”

“They wouldn't _dare_ ,” Kitranna snarled, and aimed to strike the double—but the double had vanished. 

Everyone stopped. All the doubles had suddenly disappeared. 

“Did they...get what they wanted?” Alistair said.

“I certainly hope they did,” Zevran said. 

“That was a fair sight more inventive than the previous trials,” Morrigan said. 

“Am I really so cruel?” Leliana asked, glancing down at her crossbow. 

“Does it matter?” Kitranna asked with a shrug.

“Of course it does!” Leliana said. “Did you not hear what she said?”

“I was a little busy trying not to die.”

They headed out of the chamber, onto the next one. 

“Well, cruel or not, I was magnificent,” Zevran said, tossing his hair. “It was a shame we had to fight.”

“I heard you _swear_ at yours,” Alistair said. “He can't have been that great.”

“Your ears mislead you, my friend.”

“Fine, whatever,” Alistair raised his hands. 

The next room they came to had an enormous pit in it. At the bottom of the pit they could see the gleam of water. 

This room was unique—it had no spirits, only a puzzle that had to be solved. A bridge needed to be formed over a chasm. It did not take them long before they passed this room as well, however.

Finally, they came to the last chamber.

It was enormous, larger than any of the rooms that had come before it, and was lit with brilliant light. The reason it was so bright was the massive wall of fire preventing them from going forward. 

“Oh, wonderful,” Kitranna said, rubbing her face. She looked over the fire, and could make out a large statue of Andraste and a gleaming golden artifact at her feet.

On their side of the fire, there was a carved altar made out of white stone. It was dusty and worn, but there was a clear inscription on its base. Kitranna leaned down to inspect it, and the others looked over the altar as well. 

“'Cast off your trappings of worldly life and clothe yourself in the goodness of spirits,'” Fiona read aloud. “'King and slave, lord and beggar, be made anew in the Maker's sight.'” she frowned and tilted her head up. “I can feel magic.”

“As can I,” Morrigan said. “This is certainly more work of spirits.”

“Do you think it means 'cast off your trappings' literally, or is it a metaphor?” Zevran mused. He glanced at the fire. “That is a very vital distinction here.”

“This is the last trial, I know it,” Leliana said, casting her gaze up, towards the statue. 

“Wonderful,” Kitranna said. “So, what do we do in order to not be burned alive? Magical fire packs a nastier punch than the normal kind, as I'm sure you know.”

“I am aware,” Leliana said. She hummed to herself, then looked at the inscription on the altar again. “I suppose, to be reborn, you must remove all worldly things and pass though the fire,” she said. 

“Just my idea of a good time,” Zevran muttered. 

“So do you think it allows for multiple people, or just one?” Kitranna asked, looking the altar over again. There was no other inscriptions. 

“Well, we all got here, so I guess all of us could pass through,” Alistair said with a grimace. “But if we need to do what I think we do...”

“Go naked through a wall of magical fire?”

“Yeah, that. Then I really don't want to.”

“Neither do I,” Fiona muttered. 

“We have come all this way!” Leliana said. “We cannot stop now!”

“Who said we had to stop?” Kitranna said. “I'm sure one person could do it and we could all turn our backs or something if it's that big an issue.”

“I will do it,” Leliana said immediately. “I will go through the fire.”

“What a marvelous decision,” Morrigan said, rolling her eyes. “Are we quite sure that this is not another riddle, or puzzle? 'Twould be exceedingly foolish to remove one's armor and attempt to walk through fire.”

“Do you see any more riddles here?” Kitranna asked.

Morrigan looked at the altar. She pursed her lips and cast a quick revalatory spell on it, the kind used for unearthing ancient carvings. Nothing. 

“If it is a riddle, it is one I cannot decipher,” she said. 

“There is no riddle,” Leliana insisted. “This is a test of faith, not of the mind. I will do it.”

Kitranna chewed her lip. “Fiona, you have some healing spells, right?”

“I do.”

“Good. Have that on standby.”

“I shall.”

“Alright, you go ahead, Leliana. Have fun.”

Leliana removed her armor and clothing. Alistair turned bright red and looked away. Leliana steeled herself, and held out a hand to the fire.

“It—it does not burn me,” she told them. 

“Great,” Kitranna said. “I'm very happy for you.”

Leliana moved through the fire unscathed.

“If you wish, you may follow!” she called. 

“We're fine right here,” Kitranna called back. 

Leliana was about to say something else, when the misty image of the Temple guardian appeared before her. Suddenly her ears were filled with a roaring sound, as if she were underwater, and she could hear nothing but the guardian's voice.

“You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet,” he said. “You have walked the path of Andraste, and, like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrim.”

“What of my friends?” Leliana asked, glancing over the guardian's shoulder to where Kitranna and the others stood, on the other side of the fire.

The guardian looked over his shoulder. “They have not passed the last test,” he said. “Only you may approach the Urn.”

“But they have come so far...” Leliana looked over at Kitranna. 

“If they truly wish to see the Urn, they may,” the guardian assured her. “After all, you have arrived here. They may as well.”

Leliana nodded, and the roaring in her ears disappeared. She looked over to Kitranna and the others. “You can come over, if you want,” she said. 

“Do we get our armor back afterwards?” Kitranna asked. “Because yours is still over here.” she shook her head. “Look, it's not that important—just go and get the ashes and we can get out of here.”

“But--”

“Does anyone else really feel like ditching their armor and going over to look at that Urn?” Kitranna asked the group at large.

Morrigan snorted. Zevran gave a noncommittal shrug, as did Fiona. 

“Alistair?” Kitranna said. 

Alistair rubbed the back of his head. “I don't know...”

“Do it if you want. We won't look. We'll just sit over here.”

In the end, Alistair decided to join Leliana on the other side, everyone politely averting their eyes. Morrigan and Kitranna didn't care enough to go, nor did Zevran or Fiona, so they stayed on the other side. 

“I'm so sick of this place,” Kitranna muttered to Morrigan, who hummed in agreement.

Leliana and Alistair retrieved a pinch of the Ashes, and there was a door on that side of the temple so they didn't have to go back through the Gauntlet to leave.

“Amazing,” Kitranna said, weighing the pouch of Ashes in her hand. “Now we can go give these to Arl Eamon. If he's not dead already.”

“I am sure he is not,” Morrigan assured her. “If nothing else, your Jowan was a very poor assassin.”

“That is what happens when you do not hire a professional,” Zevran said. 

“Yeah,” Kitranna agreed with a sigh. “I don't think that's exactly a bad thing though, right?”

“Well, it is for an aspiring assassin.”

They went back down the mountain (skirting the dragon), and back to the Chantry in Haven, to reunite with the rest of their group. There were some remaining villagers who had attacked the Chantry, but Oghren and Shale were enough to hold them off. The entire village had a very tense, unpleasant air about it, and Kitranna wished to leave as soon as was reasonably possible.

Wynne had healed Genitivi's wounds, even the frostbitten foot, and he was much better than the last time they had seen him. 

Leliana showed them the pouch of Ashes, and Oghren and Shale had not been very impressed, but Wynne and Genitivi were.

“You really found it?” Genitivi breathed.

“We really found it,” Kitranna said. 

“My word...” Wynne said, reaching out to almost touch the pouch but pulling back at the last minute. “I can feel the magic in this.”

“Yeah, we felt the magic in that whole damn Temple,” Kitranna said. “Now come on, we need to get out of here.”

“I will stay,” Genitivi said. “This Temple is a truly amazing relic—it must be studied, surely.”

Everyone stared at him. “You...can't stay here,” Kitranna said. 

“You are aware there are angry cultists right outside, yes?” Zevran said.

“How would you care for yourself?” Fiona asked. “There is nothing to eat in that Temple. No traders come this way.”

“Well, apart from dead dragons, you could eat those,” Alistair mentioned. “Oh, and there's a high dragon, also! We think that's what the cultists were worshiping.”

“You would certainly die,” Wynne determined. “Perhaps when the Blight is dealt with, the Chantry can spare soldiers or Templars to come here and make this place safe, but until then, we all need to leave.”

“You cannot possibly let those cultists have free reign of the Temple any longer!” Genitivi protested. “They will never allow anyone near it again!”

Kitranna rubbed he forehead. “Look, I think we have bigger issues than preservation of a historical relic,” she said. “And I mean—I guess I can't stop you from staying here, I'm just saying I don't like the death of an old man on my conscience.”

Genitivi looked affronted.

“You absolutely will die if you stay here without us,” Kitranna said. “There's a _high dragon_ on top of that mountain.”

Eventually they compromised. Morrigan, Fiona and Kitranna cast several spells on the path up to the ruins, hopefully preventing the lingering villagers from going up there and doing something to the Temple. They would all return to Redcliffe, and if Bann Teagan or Eamon could spare some soldiers, those soldiers could return to Haven with Genitivi and they could better secure the Temple. 

With that done, they left the town. None of the remaining villagers bothered them, apparently having been dissuaded by the sight of so many armed and magical individuals.


	20. International

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of talking in this one. 
> 
> reminder, if you like this, please comment!

The trek down the mountain was not as bad as the trip up had been, and the weather had warmed since they had first ascended to Orzammar. There were more darkspawn about, however, and the dreams of the Archdemon became worse and worse. 

As it turned out, the Archdemon had a name. Kitranna woke up one morning knowing it— _Urthemiel_ —without knowing how she knew it. Alistair had the same problem, but Fiona didn't. They theorized it was because of the lack of Taint in Fiona's blood.

Neither Kitranna nor Alistair could understand any of what Urthemiel said, if it ever said anything at all. They just knew its name. 

“Urthemiel was once the Old God of beauty,” Morrigan told them after she had heard the name herself. “Worshiped by the Tevinter Imperium long before the Blights ever came to be.”

Fiona made a face at the mention of the Imperium, but didn't say anything. 

“It was pretty ugly when we saw it,” Alistair said. "Not really 'god of beauty' material."

"It was hideous," Kitranna agreed. "Like--like a Blight-wolf, with these horrible rotten scales..." she made a face.

Morrigan nodded. “It is said that the Blight corrupts all Old Gods, twists them into Archdemons,” she said. “Presumably it looked very different before it became Tainted.”

When they finally came back to Redcliffe, the town had rebuilt itself to some degree. New walls were constructed and there were new fortifications in place. Some of the houses that had been burned down were replaced, or were in the middle of being restored. Far more stone than wood was used in the reconstruction, and there was a moat being dug around the village as well. 

At Redcliffe Castle, several representatives from the Wardens' different alliances were gathered. Two mages Kitranna recognized from Calenhad, along with a Templar, a Dalish woman who eyed the humans with extreme caution, and a dwarven woman who always looked a little alarmed. 

Bann Teagan was very pleased to see them, greeting them at the gate. 

“You've returned, I see,” Bann Teagan said. 

“Yeah,” Kitranna said. “Where's the Arl? I wanna finish this quick as possible.”

“So you found the Urn? It is not a myth after all?”

“No, it's pretty real,” Kitranna said, holding up the pouch that contained the pinch of Ashes. “We had to fight through a damn ruin to get to it. Ask Leliana—she's the one who got the Ashes. How's Eamon?”

“Unchanged, I'm afraid,” Teagan lead them upstairs, to the Arls' bedchamber. Isolde and Connor were by his side, as well as another spirit healer that Kitranna knew from the Circle. 

“We've tried magical healing--your allies from the Circle were very helpful,” Teagan said, gesturing to the spirit healer. “But nothing works.”

The healer shook his head. “No—the Arl is an old man, and he was left for a long time unattended.”

“Well, hopefully, we have something that can help,” Kitranna said. Leliana came forward with the pouch of Ashes, which the healer peered at.

“Maker's breath,” he breathed. “What _is_ this?”

“Something that will help,” Leliana said. The healer took the Ashes from her, and glanced at Wynne.

“Do you wish to use this, Enchanter?” he asked her. “I worry—I am not as experienced a spirit healer you are, and in this case...”

Wynne nodded. “I will do it,” she said. She cast the Ashes over Eamon, and the air felt charged for a moment, the Veil shifting and turning, making everyone in the room feel a most peculiar sensation, like someone invisible was talking to themselves. 

For a frightening few moments, everything was still. Then Eamon shifted and opened his eyes. 

“Wh—where am I?” Eamon mumbled. Isolde gasped and was at his side in an instant, clutching his hand. Connor held tightly to his mother's skirts, watching his father with wide eyes. 

“Be calm, my friend,” Teagan said. “You have been deathly ill for a very long time. Do you remember nothing?”

“I—remember...” Eamon tripped over his words, and the spirit healer bustled past Teagan. 

“Leave off,” the spirit healer said, irritable. “Wait until he's recovered a little, Maker's blessing,”

“We don't have the time,” Teagan said.

“This will not take much time,” Wynne assured Teagan. “We have brought him from the brink of death—there is still work to do.”

Wynne and the other healer ushered everyone but Isolde and Connor out of Eamon's bedchamber. 

“Well,” Kitranna said, putting her hands on her hips. “That worked out alright.”

“How fortunate,” Morrigan said, rolling her eyes. 

Kitranna turned to Teagan. “How have the alliances been working out?” Kitranna asked. “Anything I should know?”

“We believe there's at least one Dalish Clan in the forest surrounding Redcliffe,” Teagan said. “There's been some mention of Dalish elves in the Hinterlands, but they won't come any closer. The only Dalish elf who has actually deigned to speak with us is that woman who says she's from Clan Leanvunlas.” he frowned at the mention of the Dalish.

“Yeah, don't bother them if they're not bothering you,” Kitranna said. “You might scare them off and that's the last thing we need. What about everyone else? The mages, the dwarves?”

“The mages came almost right after you left. They frightened the soldiers and villagers some, but mostly they...well, they haven't been anything but helpful.” Teagan rubbed the back of his head. "As I said, the spirit healers have been quite amicable, eager to lend their assistance to Eamon, and the battle-mages have been invaluable in assisting with fortifications."

“Any fighting with the Templars?”

“No, nothing as far as I know.” he folded his arms. “Some of the mages have taken to teaching Connor magic, and the Templars didn't seem to approve, but understood that there were unusual circumstances. And—well, Connor _is_ a noble.”

“Right...” Kitranna grimaced. 

“The dwarves showed up a few weeks ago—well, one dwarf. She said there's more on the way.”

“What else? Any more darkspawn attacks, anything like that?”

Teagan sighed. “There _have_ been more darkspawn attacks,” he said. “Not against Redcliffe itself, but from the south there are more destroyed villages and farmsteads. We've been getting refugees from the southern lands by the boatload, and the Orlesian Wardens are still months away.”

“I figured,” Kitranna muttered. 

“There's also been some word from the Orlesians themselves,” Teagan said. “Nothing much, but apparently the Empress and the Divine are both concerned about the Blight.”

“Did they offer to help?”

“Mostly they wished to know what was happening,” Teagan's mouth twisted. “It is not likely the Orlesians will offer any helping hand.”

“Makes sense.”

Teagan tapped one finger against his cheek. “There were also some odd letters from the Antivan Crows...” he said. 

“Yeah, that's probably because Zevran is with us,” Kitranna nodded. 

Loghain had sent more men, but they were easily dispatched, and with the mages from the Circle and the Dalish woman, any other strange mages could be detected before they did damage. 

Wynne and the other spirit healer soon declared Eamon fit for speaking to, and Teagan filled him in on the most recent news. Kitranna, Fiona, Alistair, Teagan, Wynne, the Dalish representative and the dwarven ambassador all packed into Eamon's bedchamber to hold their meeting. 

“This is most troubling,” Arl Eamon said after hearing everything, stroking his beard. He had been advised to keep to his bed, at least for now. 

“A little, yeah,” Kitranna agreed. 

“There is much to be done, it is true,” Eamon said. “But I must first be thankful to those who have done so much.”

Fiona muttered something in Orlesian, and everyone glanced at her but no one commented. 

“Gray Wardens, I am in your debt,” Eamon addressed Alistair, Fiona and Kitranna. “If you would allow me, I will declare you and those traveling with you Champions of Redcliffe. You will always be welcome here.”

Fiona scowled. “ _Finalmente_ ,” she growled. 

“Oh, well that's nice,” Alistair said, with a glance at Fiona. “We _all_ appreciate that.”

“You know a lot of us are mages, right?” Kitranna said. 

“Mage or no mage, you have not only saved Redcliffe, but you saved me, and you have saved my son,” Eamon said. 

“Yeah, well, everyone is still in danger,” Kitranna said. “From the darkspawn.”

“And the Archdemon,” Alistair pointed out.

“We should speak of Loghain,” Teagan said. “There is no telling what he will do once he learns of your recovery, Eamon.”

“Loghain instigates a civil war even when the darkspawn are on our very doorstep,” Eamon said in disgust. “Long have I known him—Loghain is a sensible man, one who never desired power.”

“It makes little sense to me as well,” Fiona said. “I have known him a long while myself—I have fought beside him.”

“I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne,” Teagan said. “He is mad with ambition, I tell you!”

“Mad indeed,” Eamon agreed. “Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself, and destroy my lands--”

“It was my understanding that it was an untrained mage summoning a demon that damaged your lands,” said the Dalish woman, speaking for the first time. “Your Loghain is only to blame for the assassination.”

Everyone looked at her.

“I beg your pardon, Mistress, but who...are you?” Eamon asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Oshathyla Arthiomen Leanvunlas,” the woman said. “I—come here representing Clan Leanvunlas, and the other Dalish Clans of Ferelden.” she glanced at Kitranna. “To honor the Dalish alliance with the Gray Wardens.”

Eamon tilted his head back. “I see...”

“It was Loghain who initiated the assassination attempt on Eamon, yes,” Fiona said. “And you are correct—it was an untrained mage accidentally summoning a demon that did the damage to the physical land of Redcliffe, but an assassination attempt on the lord of the land is an attack on the land itself.”

Oshathyla nodded. “I see...”

“Are there many Dalish here?” Eamon asked. “You did not mention them, Teagan.”

“It slipped my mind,” Teagan admitted. “Only—ah—Mistress Ashathyla has made her presence known—we believe there are others in the Hinterlands, but they haven't spoken to us.”

“ _O_ shathyla,” the woman in question corrected. “And my people are staying out of the way of yours.” she told Eamon. “We wish no...accidents.” her lip curled on the word 'accident.'

“Mm,” Eamon nodded. “No repeats of Red Crossing.”

“Certainly not.”

The temperature in the room was growing distinctly cooler, and it appeared Teagan felt the need to step in. 

“Regardless, Loghain must be stopped,” he said.

“Mm,” Eamon nodded. He rubbed his forehead. “We cannot fight a civil war to the end---someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance of fighting the Darkspawn.”

“Great plan. How do you want to do that?” Kitranna asked. 

“We may spread word of Loghain's treachery against the King—but it will be a claim made without proof. Those claims will certainly give Loghain's allies pause...”

“Is there something Orzammar could do to help with this?” said the dwarven representative. She was dressed in full plate armor, like Alistair, and carried a large two-handed sword on her back.

“You are the Orzammar ambassador, yes?” Eamon asked. 

She nodded. “Ambassador Irren Talvi, daughter of House Talvi,” she said. “Is it possible this Loghain is the kind to back down when shown a larger army than his own?”

“He and King Maric threw the Orlesians out of Ferelden,” Fiona said in a dry voice. “And he wishes to instigate this war while the Darkspawn are on his doorstep. Does it sound as if the armies of Orzammar would sway him?”

Ambassador Talvi held up her hands. “It was a thought. The entire reason the Orlesians did not invade us when they invaded Ferelden was because they had no idea what our military could do.”

“You ship them lyrium, also,” Oshathyla said. 

“No, we ship the _Chantry_ lyrium. That's why they don't declare an Exalted March on us for being heathens.” Oshathyla made a disapproving little noise at that, but didn't say anything.

“Even if Loghain was the sort to be put off by shows of power, it does not matter,” Eamon said. “We must save our armies for the Darkspawn. We need something that Loghain cannot ignore. We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain.”

“There is already a queen on the throne, who could possibly have a stronger claim than her?” Fiona asked, her eyes darting to Alistair. 

“There is someone with a stronger claim,” Eamon said slowly, his gaze going to Alistair as well.

Teagan followed his eyes. “Are you referring to Alistair, brother?”

“What?” Alistair sputtered.

“No!” Fiona protested. “Absolutely not!”

“Eamon, are you certain?” Teagan asked. 

“I would not suggest it if we had an alternative!” Eamon said, over the sudden noise. “But the unthinkable has occurred.”

“Look, I don't really want—I mean--” Alistair said. 

“ _No,_ ” Fiona insisted. 

“If there's already a queen, wouldn't that just make the civil war worse?” Kitranna asked. 

“Alistair is the son of Maric,” Eamon said. “He has a stronger claim to the throne than Anora does.”

Kitranna rubbed her temples. “This is like Orzammar all over again...” she sighed. “Do we really need to challenge the throne? Why not get the queen on our side?”

“Queen Anora seemed reasonable,” Alistair said quickly. “Whenever I...heard about her...”

“She is Loghain's daughter,” Eamon said. “I do not think it would be possible to get her on our side.”

“Why not?” Alistair said. “I mean, I'm sure she doesn't want a civil war or darkspawn to eat everything either.”

“She is clever, dangerously so,” Eamon said. “We could not possibly trust her. Alistair is someone we know, and he is already a Gray Warden, which means his goals align with ours.”

“Alright, that's wonderful, but I don't really want to be king,” Alistair said.

“You have a responsibility, Alistair,” Eamon said. “Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him for the sake of Ferelden.”

“And if you did that, Ferelden would surely fall,” Fiona grumbled. “Surely there is a better way—Anora is Loghain's daughter, yes, but she is also a reasonable woman. Or—perhaps there is a way to gain the allegiance of the nobility. Then someone else could assume the throne.”

“We sure Maric doesn't have any other bastards bopping around?” Kitranna asked, and Eamon, Alistair, Teagan and Fiona all glared at her. “What? It's a fair question. If he's got one there's bound to be others.”

“None that I know of,” Teagan said. 

“Nor I,” said Eamon.

Kitranna pinched the bridge of her nose. “And what about everyone who doesn't want to see a bastard usurp the throne?” she asked. “Uh—sorry about the 'bastard' thing, Alistair.” she added.

“'S fine, technical term and all that.”

“Anyway, what if someone doesn't like the idea that some heir of Maric's come gallivanting out of nowhere? It's not like Maric's around to prove it's true. We could have just grabbed some Gray Warden who looks like Cailan or Maric or whatever and said he was Maric's son!”

“That is what opponents will say, yes,” Eamon agreed. “However, both Teagan and I know he is of Maric's bloodline--”

“Won't that only convince people who were already on your side?” Alistair asked. "Look--no one wants to be eaten by darkspawn. If there's some way to get support from the Wardens by bypassing Loghain--"

“In Denerim, it's believed that the darkspawn threat is overblown,” Teagan said. “Exaggerated by frightened peasants and rumors. There are very few supporters of the Wardens there, and there won't be more until we take care of Loghain.”

“But—the Blight has been coming for over six months!” Oshathyla said. “There are darkspawn all over the southern end of Ferelden! There are entire settlements gone—how can they not know?”

“News travels slowly, I'm afraid,” Teagan said. 

“This is the only solution,” Eamon said with a sigh.

“It can't be the only solution!” Alistair protested.

“Well...” Kitranna said slowly. “Alistair, could you marry the queen?”

“What? I don't even know her!”

“Yeah, but, she's already in charge, and if you married her, we could have the bloodline thing without you having to be the only monarch, right?”

“I'm a Gray Warden! I can't even have children, what kind of King would I make either way?”

“You can't have children?” Teagan said in surprise.

“Barring unusual circumstances, no. Wardens are incapable of having children.” Alistair folded his arms and leaned back on his heels.

Eamon and Teagan exchanged a worried look. 

“That's just another reason to get someone else as king!” Alistair said.

“Or stop having kings altogether,” Oshathyla said. “Just a thought.”

“We can hardly change our entire method of government right now,” Fiona said. 

“Maybe you should. It would stop this nonsense cold.”

“As of this moment, I see only one way to proceed,” Eamon said. “I will call for a Landsmeet, in Denerim. There, the nobility can decide our true ruler, one way or another.”

“Denerim?” Kitranna said. “We can't go to Denerim—there's that whole issue of 'Loghain already sent people to kill us.'”

“The last person who did that was Zevran,” Alistair pointed out.

“Maybe next time someone will hire a Crow who doesn't hate his job,” Kitranna suggested. 

“Hm,” Eamon frowned. “That is a risk we must take.”

“Alright, well, before we do that, my people and I need to go south,” Kitranna told Eamon. “We have some things we need to do before we can go to Denerim.”

“Your entire company?” Eamon asked. 

“What are we going south for?” Alistair asked her, both Fiona and him looking at her in surprise.

“Favor for Morrigan,” Kitranna explained. “Remember? That thing about Flemeth.”

“Ah,” Alistair nodded. “Right. Are you sure that's a good idea?”

“You don't have to come. You could just go straight to Denerim.” she looked back at Eamon. “But _I_ have to take a detour to go south.”

“How long will this detour take you?”

“Hopefully not long at all,” Kitranna said. 

“Hopefully?”

“Well, things could always go wrong.” she rubbed the back of her head. 

“It seems more prudent that you immediately go to Denerim,” Eamon said with a frown.

“Yeah, I'll think about it. The point is, my company and yours probably won't be traveling together.”


	21. Whelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short chapter this week cuz i'm a doof and didn't write the story with clear chapter breaks :P 
> 
> reminded to comment if you enjoy it!

It was decided that Kitranna would take her group to the Wilds, possibly passing through Ostagar, before meeting with Eamon and Teagan at Eamon's estate in Denerim. The hope was that Eamon's allegiance would convince the other nobility that the Gray Wardens were not to blame for Cailan's death. It was possible that some would take Alistair's push for the throne and Cailan's recent death as suspicious, but with the darkspawn so quickly approaching, the nobility would have less time to devote to theories such as that.

Eamon gave Alistair a shield, one of those that were given to the knights of Redcliffe. Alistair was the only one who could use it effectively, else Eamon probably would have given it to Kitranna.

The group would stay at Redcliffe for a few more days, while gathering supplies, arranging transportation, and finishing up other errands. Kitranna, Alistair and Fiona still had to meet with Oshathyla and Ambassador Talvi, as well as Senior Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Gregoire in order to try and coordinate the disparate groups. 

Oshathyla had said that Clan Leanvunlas was contacting other Clans, and attempting to form an internal alliance that could provide more aid to the Wardens' cause. Clan Leanvunlas was likely the largest Clan in Ferelden, comprised of five hundred people in total, most of whom were civilians. However, the total population of Dalish individuals in Ferelden numbered somewhere in the thousands (Oshathyla was not entirely sure, as they did not exactly take census of their people, but last headcount it had been something along those lines). The original Gray Warden treaties had been formed when the Dalish still had a formal military, so in order to effectively honor the treaties, Clan Leanvunlas had called a makeshift Arlathvhen for all the nearest Clans. 

Some Clans were more than ready to fight the darkspawn, comprised of many hunters, mages, and healers, but others were not so sure. Many were extremely wary and would need more than ancient Warden treaties to lend their strength to that of the Gray Wardens'. 

According to Ambassador Talvi, Orzammar was also having some inter-community strife. Although Culwydd's ascension to the throne had been fairly smooth, there were still many supporters of both Bhelen and Harromont. Culwydd's decision to immediately become involved in surfacer matters didn't help her popularity, and although tensions were not nearly as high as they had been immediately following King Endrin's death, the nobility were currently attempting to tie Culwydd's decisions up in bureaucracy. 

The Legion of the Dead, a faction in and of itself, also patently refused to help with any surfacer problems until the situation became severe enough for their standards. They fought darkspawn so often that although the Archdemon fazed them, they still did not consider the disparate horde on the surface a true darkspawn army, and believed the real fight was still in the Deep Roads.

Some of the Merchant's Guild were also getting their feathers ruffled by Culwydd's sudden interest in the surface. For quite a long time, the seat of Orzammar government had had little to no interest in the doings of the Merchant's Guild, apart from the the goods that could be shipped to Orzammar. Now, Culwydd not only wanted to lend her armies to the Gray Wardens, but she had been trying to learn what the Merchant's Guild had been doing recently.

Lastly there was the Circle—unfortunately Calenhad had far fewer mages than it once did, and had suffered Templar casualties as well. Mages and Templars were both being dispatched from other Circles, but it would take them months to get to Ferelden. 

The closest Circle was Jainen, in the Waking Sea, but considering the time of year and the fact that Jainen was extremely small it was unlikely they could provide much aid. Montsimmard, Ostwick, the Kirkwall Circle and the White Spire were all much larger than Jainen, but both Montsimmard and the White Spire were in Orlais, and Ostwick and the Kirkwall Circle were in the Free Marches, all four far too far away to be of any practical use. 

The low number of mages meant a lower number of spirit healers, enchanted armor and weaponry, and poorer defense against darkspawn Emissaries. 

Fortunately, the Dalish had their own mages and the dwarves had their own enchanters, but less fortunately the Dalish were very leery about working with Templars, and Templars with Dalish mages. Several Clans with a high number of mages had denied the alliance with the Wardens for the precise reason that they feared what would happen if the Templars learned of them. 

All of that didn't even begin to address the logistical difficulties with trying to get dwarves, Dalish, mages and Templars to all meet in one small Ferelden town without strangling each other. 

The Dalish gathered in the woods were starting to spook the residents of Redcliffe and the Hinterlands, dwarven warriors frequently got into fights with Ferelden ones, and there had been at least one altercation between a Dalish Keeper, a Templar, and a Circle mage where the Keeper had broken the Templar's nose. Accusations of blood magic were thrown around, dwarven merchants got into fist fights with the local Redcliffe merchants, there were language difficulties abound, and Redcliffe was still attempting to recover from the undead attack of several months ago. 

It was an absolute mess, and Kitranna strongly suspected that the only reason Redcliffe hadn't been razed to the ground was the imminent threat of darkspawn invasion. 

While Kitranna attempted to mediate the disparate groups, Fiona went to see Arl Eamon.

He had recovered enough that he was no longer confined to his bed, and was no usually to be found in his office, where Fiona met him.

“Arl Eamon,” Fiona said, closing the door behind her.

“Warden,” Eamon inclined his head. “Please, do excuse me—I have a great deal of work I must be doing,” he gestured to the paperwork scattered across his desk.

Fiona looked down. “Mm,” she grunted. “I see.” she clicked the tips of her fingernails together. “Arl, about this plan to have Alistair take the throne--”

Eamon sighed. “I know of your objections to the plan. He is not experienced enough, he does not wish it—but if Teagan or I were to push for the throne, we would appear opportunists, using the war to our own advantage.”

“And appearing with a mystery heir will not result in the same thing?” Fiona crossed her arms. 

“He appears far more legitimate than anyone else.”

“You also gave him to the Chantry as a child, where he was then conscripted by the Wardens,” Fiona said, her voice icy. “You appear as an opportunist anyway, with your apparent willingness to ignore inconvenient people until they suddenly become useful.”

Eamon blinked at her, his eyes narrowed. “Why does this concern you so? I beg your pardon, Warden, but this is only your affair through your status as a Warden. What does an Orlesian elf mage concern herself so with Ferelden politics?”

“Do you know who Alistair's mother is?”

“A scullery made, or somesuch,” Eamon said, waving his hand. “Does it matter?”

Fiona sucked in a breath and steeled herself. “No,” she said. “No, that is not true.”

Eamon glanced at her. “Then who--?” he paused, looking her over more intently. “...ah.” he folded his hands behind his back. “I was under the impression that Gray Wardens are incapable of bearing children, as Alistair said.”

“My case is a unique one,” Fiona said, watching Eamon as he began to pace. “Even the other Wardens cannot explain it. The fact that remains is that he is my son, and Maric gave him to your household to keep him safe, which you appear to have done an astonishingly poor job at.”

Eamon spread his hands. “It was years ago,” he said. “Isolde would not tolerate any child who was not her own.”

“She is _your wife_ ,” Fiona snapped. “You should have stood up to her, not thrown the child of Maric to the Chantry!”

“What of you?' Eamon exclaimed. “You are not part of the Circle, you are a Warden—why could Alistair not have been raised at Weisshaupt?”

“The half-elf son of a mage who isn't even a proper Warden anymore?” Fiona sneered. “Please. Have some sense in your head. Would a half-elf child really be given the respect a human child would?”

Eamon waved a dismissive hand. “I see you have very _righteous_ leanings,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Surely you must be able to appreciate what must be done here. If your worry is for Alistair, he could hardly do better than to become the King!”

“He is my son! _My son_!” Fiona snapped, throwing her hands up. “You cannot simply throw him away until you need him for _political leverage_!”

“He has a duty to the Kingdom,” Eamon insisted, putting his hand on the table. 

“And you had a duty to Maric,” Fiona jabbed her finger in Eamon's face. “You had a duty to raise his son properly, not use him as a pawn!”

“Yes, I see you must know a great deal about raising children, having _given yours away_ ,” Eamon snapped. 

Fiona slapped him. For a moment they both stood there in silence, the echo of the slap ringing in their ears. 

“You will find a better way,” Fiona hissed, then turned on her heel and left. Fiona slammed the door to the office and stamped down the hall, encountering Kitranna, who had heard the noise. 

“Problem?” Kitranna said.

Fiona growled something in Orlesian.

“I don't speak Orlesian,” Kitranna said.

Fiona shook her head. “It is old wounds,” she said, her accent thicker than usual. “You need not concern yourself with it.”

Later, Alistair came to find Fiona.

“Did you really have a shouting match with Arl Eamon?”

Fiona glanced at Alistair. “Why?”

“Well, he told me that you did,” Alistair said with a shrug. “I..” he rubbed the back of his head. “He said it was about me.”

Fiona grunted. 

“You know, Eamon did the best he could--”

“No, he did not,” Fiona muttered. “He should have done better.”

“It wasn't so bad, really,” Alistair assured her. “I turned out alright, didn't I?”

Fiona smiled a bit. “You are a fine lad, it is true,” she said. “The best I could have hoped for. But...”

“But what?”

“If I had...” she sighed. “Perhaps I could have raised you myself, in Weisshaupt,” she said. “Perhaps I did not need to have sent you away. There was no reason for the Circle to demand my presence back, perhaps they would have just...forgotten me.”

“From what I know of the Circle? Not likely, even for Wardens.”

“I know,” Fiona said. “I am well aware.” she rubbed her forehead. “I sent you to Eamon so you could have a better life,” she said. “Where no one knew you were the son of an elf and a mage. Not so Eamon could toss you aside until he needed your bloodline.”

“Would it really have been so terrible if people knew you were my mother?” Alistair asked quietly. “I would've liked to know.”

Fiona looked up at him. He towered over her, even when they were both sitting down. 

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I would have loved nothing more than to have kept you with me.” 

“But you didn't.”

“No, I did not. Alistair, you--” she sighed and rubbed her forehead. “It is better if people see you as human. As an elf, well...the best we could have hoped for was acceptance by a Dalish Clan. And they do not like half-bloods.”

“I did notice that,” Alistair nodded. “But what about an Alienage? Or Weisshaupt? Or--”

“Have you ever been to an Alienage?”

“No.”

Fiona sighed heavily. “Alistair, the elves you know are either Wardens, assassins, or servants. What does that tell you?”

“There's also the Dalish,”

“And they live in the woods, always on the run from Templars and angry humans. What does that say to you?”

“...nothing good.” Alistair admitted. 

Fiona nodded. “No. No it does nott.” she pursed her lips. “Not to mention that if the Wardens had decided to send me back to the Circle—which they were deliberating the entire time I was pregnant, and after you were born—you would have been taken away from me anyway.”

“Yeah,” Alistair said quietly. “Yes, I know that. I know about that.”

“I do wish I could have raised you myself,” she said. “But—I could not. I am attempting to make up for it now.”

“Well, helping kill Darkspawn is pretty great. Don't know anyone who can say their mums do that.”

Fiona smiled. “I'm glad.”


	22. Transformation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally the gals get to kiss--it only took them 20 chapters

Ostagar was cold. 

It was early spring yet, and although the lowlands around Calenhad were warmer, Ostagar and the Wilds were still very, very cold. 

Kitranna and her company (including Morrigan) had decided to go to Ostagar, then to the Wilds. There, Morrigan could set up camp in Ostagar while Kitranna and the others dealt with Flemeth. The Darkspawn had moved on by now, either going back into the Deep Roads or going across land to go north, towards where there were more people. 

Morrigan wished to be near Kitranna, to know as soon as possible when Flemeth was slain, but she could not get any closer than several miles for fear that Flemeth could possess her the moment her body was destroyed. 

There were some darkspawn still lingering in the ruins, old equipment and scattered armor laying about, but that was easy to deal with. 

What was worse was the body, strung up over the bridge. 

Though the body was rotten and bruised, flesh torn open by scavengers, there was enough of the face and golden hair to identify him. 

Cailan.

His was the only corpse remaining--all the others had been dragged off or rotted or frozen. Only Cailan's was still exposed to the air. It afforded the darkspawn with an intelligence that was...disquieting.

“We can't leave him like this,” Alistair said. “He should have a proper burial.”

“If we move the body, it is likely to fall apart,” Zevran said. “I am not sure what good a burial would do him now.”

“A burial does no one any good,” Morrigan said. 

“It is for the mourners,” Leliana said. “And to show respect.”

“Why should I? He was not my king.”

“Perhaps we could take down the...structure, first?” Wynne suggested, speaking over Morrigan. “And then burn it?”

They did eventually manage to get the remains—mostly bones and withered flesh—onto a proper pyre. They couldn't find any of his armor or other belongings, and they could not afford to give any of their own, so they instead wrapped him in an extra cloak and hoped that would have to suffice. 

After the funeral pyre was burnt to ashes and Ostagar was purged of the last darkspawn stragglers, they went on their way to confront Flemeth, leaving Morrigan behind. 

“I will be fine on my own,” she assured a concerned Kitranna. “I would be more wary of my mother.”

“Are you sure?”

“She is a powerful apostate of unknown age,” Morrigan said dryly. “Why would one not be wary?” she reached out and touched the back of Kitranna's hand. “Be cautious,” she said. “Flemeth is not so easily dealt with.”

“I'll be careful,” Kitranna smiled at Morrigan. “I promise.” she took Morrigan's hand in her own. 

Morrigan flushed. “I—that pleases me to hear,” she said. “Do take care not to die, if you please?” she stroked the back of Kitranna's hand with her thumb before pulling away. 

“I'll do my best.”

The Wilds were colder than they had been earlier in the year, a crust of ice formed over the swamps and small lakes, snow dusting the ruins and giving them an ethereal feel. No birds called, and there were few animals and no people. The darkspawn incursion did not appear to have done much damage one way or the other--or perhaps it had, and the snow simply covered it up.

Flemeth's hut was much the same, still a ramshackle little house, only now covered in snow. Strangely, no smoke emanated from the chimney, and there were no footprints outside. 

“This is where Morrigan used to live?” Leliana asked as the shack came into view.

“Her and her mother,” Alistair said. “Who we're here to kill.” he glanced at Kitranna. “Because Morrigan asked us to.”

“That's right,” Kitranna said. 

“Is there truly no reconciliation between them?” Wynne asked.

“Flemeth wants to steal her body,” Kitranna said. “So, that's an issue.”

“That is very sad,” Leliana said. “Perhaps we should speak with Flemeth and see--”

“See what?” came Flemeth's voice from behind them, and they all turned, weapons out. She snorted. “Did you think you could come here without my knowing it?” she folded her arms and sat back on her heels. Kitranna realized with a jolt that Flemeth was barefoot, and left no footprints. 

“I'd kinda hoped,” Kitranna admitted. “I mean honestly, is there a better way of approaching an ancient bodysnatching witch except by surprise?”

“So I see lovely Morrigan has at last found someone to dance to her tune,” Flemeth said, with a little smirk. “Such enchanting music she plays, wouldn't you say?”

“Not really,” Alistair said.

“Then why are you here, boy?”

“Look, I don't really want you trying to possess Morrigan,” Kitranna said. “Or whatever it is you're going to do, so she asked me to kill you.”

“And yet, you have not done so yet.” Flemeth heaved a sigh. “A soul is never forced on the unwilling.”

“Then why does Morrigan think you're going to snatch her body the minute yours breaks?”

“Perhaps because she cannot possibly know everything about me.” Flemeth shook her head. “But this is an old, old story, one that Flemeth has heard before, and even told. So, let's skip right to the ending, shall we? Do you slay the old wretch as Morrigan bids, or does the story take a different turn?”

“Unless that story somehow guarantees you keeping out of Morrigan's brain, which in no way it could, we could just skip right to the slaying.”

“So eager you are!” Flemeth exclaimed. 

“Yes, well, I'm a busy woman.”

Flemeth smirked at her again in that peculiar way of hers. “If you wish to protect your dear Morrigan so very much, I see no cause to stop you. As long as the music plays, we dance.”

Then she turned into a dragon. 

In dragon-shape, Flemeth could wield less magic, but she still warped the Fade around her to her advantage, making them incapable of getting near her. They were forced to stick to long-range attacks, making Kitranna, Leliana, and Wynne the most useful party members.

After what seemed like several hours of fighting, however, they managed to beat her. It seemed oddly easy—almost as if she was still holding back, even now. Still, it was better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

When the dragon collapsed, it did not returned to the shape of a woman. It instead burst into a shower of hot sparks and disappeared altogether—a most unusual occurrence. She left no indentation on the snow, no sign that she had ever been there.

Flemeth's hut was freezing cold, only ashes in the hearth. It was hard to tell how someone could have lived there. Inside there were not many things, but Kitranna located a few books and Flemeth's true grimoire. They returned to Ostagar, to find Morrigan. 

“You have returned from the Wilds, alive, even,” Morrigan said when they met each other again. “What news have you?”

“Flemeth is dead,” Kitranna said, handing Morrigan the grimoire from out of her pack. “Turned out she could turn into a dragon. Could you do that?”

“Dead?” Morrigan took the grimoire, looked at it, then back up at Kitranna. “You actually managed it? I barely dared to hope 'twas even possible...”

“Aw, thanks,” Kitranna said. “Well, she's dead now.” she rubbed the back of her head. “No body, though. That was weird—she kind of...turned into sparks, like a dead demon would.”

Morrigan nodded. “That body she had was not her original one,” she said. “I assume it would act differently than her own.” she looked down at the grimoire. “And so here it is! Her grimoire! Fantastic! ...and thank you, for helping me,” she added quickly.

“You're welcome,” Kitranna said.

Morrigan let out a relieved sigh. “Hopefully, we are free of any pressing matters regarding my protection. I do believe we must be on our way to Denerim.”

She stood, looking at Kitranna, then reached out and took her arm. Very swiftly, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Kitranna's mouth, then stepped back. 

“My thanks, again,” she said. 

Kitranna touched her mouth. She smiled, then moved forward to brush a quick kiss across Morrigan's brow.

“You're welcome,” she said again. 

Morrigan was blushing heavily. “We...should be off, should we not?”

“We really should.”

 

“I have a question for you,” Morrigan asked, on their trek back to Denerim.

“What is it?”

“What is your opinion of 'love?'”

Kitranna shrugged. “I don't know.” she glanced at the other woman. “Why?”

“You do not know?”

“Well...I...” Kitranna rubbed the back of her head. “I never really thought about it. Why are you asking?”

“We—have been close for some time, have we not? And you protected me from Flemeth without hope of reward.”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“I...do not like this feeling of dependency,” Morrigan admitted. “'Tis a weakness I abhor. Is that—do you know if that is love? I could not say.”

“I don't know either,” Kitranna said. “I trust you, if that's what you're talking about.”

Morrigan snorted. “Then we are both fools, and we need to do something immediately.”

“We are doing something. We're walking.”

“Oh, you are of no help!” Morrigan snapped. 

“What's the matter?” Kitranna demanded. “Is there something wrong with me? Who cares about love or not?”

“No, there is little wrong with you.”

“Little?”

“Your habit of charging facefirst into battle does you little credit.”

“I'm an Arcane Warrior! You're supposed to do that!”

Morrigan sighed. “This is irrelevant. I—I have gotten too close, allowed myself to become too close. This is a detriment to us both.”

“No it isn't,” Kitranna reached out and touched Morrigan's shoulder. “I really like you, and I trust you. What's wrong with that?”

“I am—I am not like other women,” Morrigan insisted, flinching back a little. “I am not worth your—distraction. And you—you are...” she halted. 

“I'm what?”

Morrigan pressed her fingers to her temples. “Neither of us can afford to be distracted, we are not worth each others' time.”

“Morrigan...” she brought the other woman up short. Morrigan glanced up at her, then away. “It doesn't matter that you might be different than other people. You're worth my time. Do you really think I'm not worth yours?” she took Morrigan's hands, feeling hurt.

“No,” Morrigan looked away. “No, I...I have...no experience with any of this,” Morrigan said. “I look upon you and I—I do not know what it is I feel. It should not matter.”

“Who says?”

Morrigan bit her lip. “There are things that must be done,” she said. “Tasks that must be accomplished. I cannot distract you, and you cannot distract me.”

“Why don't we do them together?” Kitranna urged. “Whatever it is, we can do it together.” she caught Morrigan's eyes. “I mean, I killed your dragon mother for you. I'm sure I can handle most everything else you throw at me.” she paused. “Unless you think I'm stupid. Then I'd be pretty pissed.”

Morrigan chuckled, in spite of herself. “You are not stupid,” she said. “Foolhardy, reckless, _infuriating_ \--”

“You really know how to flatter a lady, don't you?”

“This is a weakness we cannot afford,” Morrigan said quietly. “I have no experience with any of this--'tis all very unexpected.”

“Morrigan, we're going to Denerim to try and lead an army of Dalish, dwarves, mages and humans to kill an Archdemon. I don't think any of this was expected.”

“That is not what I am speaking of.”

“Morrigan...” Kitranna reached out and touched Morrigan's cheek. “Nothing bad will happen if you like me. Or even love me.”

“You cannot possibly be certain of that.”

“Of course I can. I'm not in the Circle, and I'll punch anything that tries to mess things up.”

Morrigan laughed, a little sadly. “That Circle did the strangest things to your perception of the world...”

“And living in a swamp with your evil dragon mother did weird things to yours, so we're even.”

“We will both regret this,” Morrigan told her.

“Or we could both be eaten by Darkspawn tomorrow.”

Morrigan sighed, and smiled, and leaned forward and kissed Kitranna. She tasted like lightning and lyrium, like spellwork. She pulled away. “If you are so insistent, then I suppose we shall regret it together,” she said.

Kitranna smiled, touching her lips. “I guess we will."


	23. Trammel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that nonsense about part-elves always looking totally human is ridiculous--especially since feynriel in da2 looks pretty elfy to me, with the nose and the big ol bright eyes. i bet you could spot any half-elf if you really knew what to look for.

Denerim was small, compared to Orzammar. It looked battered and ramshackle, the houses of many different styles and qualities. 

Eamon's estate was on the edge of the city, and Kitranna's group found their way there with little trouble, no guards stopping them. She was fairly sure they got odd looks for having so many armed strangers (not to mention three elves, a dwarf, and a golem) in their party, but no one bothered them. 

Eamon and Teagan had both gotten there by the time Kitranna arrived. She, Alistair and Fiona went to meet with them immediately while the others got settled in. 

“Is your errand in the Wilds finished?” Eamon asked. “No more side trips?”

“No, we're done,” Kitranna said. “How have things been? Any problems, aside from the normal ones?”

“The last we heard, there were still tensions between the Templars and the Dalish,” Teagan said with a grimace. “Mistress Oshathyla said that her—ah—Clan was having issues gaining allegiances from other Ferelden Clans, as well.”

Kitranna rubbed her forehead.

“Tell the Templars to focus their efforts on the darkspawn, nothing else,” Fiona advised. “Their policy of—acquiring—mages from groups such as the Dalish or the Avvar or the Chasind is suspect at the best of times...”

“I cannot call myself an expert,” Eamon said. “But that policy does seem detrimental at a time like this. Even focusing on apostates from towns under Chantry law detracts from fighting the darkspawn...”

“Yes, precisely,” Fiona nodded. “What else?”

“Queen Anora has not made a public appearance for many weeks,” Eamon said. “We have a source from her household who says that she may actually be being held hostage by Loghain.”

“Really?” Kitranna leaned forward. “That's hilarious.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Also, if we rescue her, does that mean she'd automatically be on our side?”

Eamon stroked his beard. “The individual from her household did come here on behalf of Anora, asking us for help,” he said.

“Who is this person?” Fiona asked. “May we meet them?”

“Not yet,” Eamon said. “She should be here soon, however.”

While they waited for their source, they discussed other matters. The dwarves were all restless because the Legion of the Dead was still mostly refusing to leave the Deep Roads, although they seemed more inclined to change their minds than they had been previously. Culwydd had also started to introduce some new immigration policies, allowing dwarves to leave for the surface without being declared casteless and allowing some surfacer dwarves to live in Orzammar. Many of the dwarven military didn't care, but the nobility was not reacting with much grace to these changes and the atmosphere of unease permeated through everyone. 

It seemed as if the dwarves got on well with all the surfacers, however, so that was good. Eamon was hopeful that this would perhaps pave the way for better trade relations with Orzammar. 

At last, the woman that Anora had sent came to them. Her name was Erlina, and she was elvhen, light skinned with black hair. 

“The queen, she is in...a difficult position,” Erlina explained. She had an Orlesian accent, a little different than Fiona's. “She loved her husband, and trusted her father to protect him. When he returns with no king and only dark rumors, what is she to think? She worries, no? But when she tries to speak with him, he does not answer her.”

Fiona's eyes were fixed on Erlina, her expression calculating. “What does Anora believe?”

“My queen suspects Loghain, but he is very subtle, yes?”

Fiona sat back in her chair. “When he wants to be, yes.”

“Rendon Howe is not so subtle, so she goes to visit him. A visit from the Queen to the new Arl of Denerim is only a courtesy. And she demands answers.”

“Let me guess,” Alistair said. “It didn't go well?”

“Not particularly. He locked her in the estate.”

“And no one minded that?” Kitranna asked. 

“I do not believe Loghain would allow that,” Fiona said.

“King Cailan was like a son to Loghain, and you see where that has ended,” Erlina said darkly. “Does he love Anora more? Who is to say?” she paused. “I...think her life is in danger.”

Everyone sat up.

“Really?” Kitranna asked. “Because that's just about the last thing we need.”

“Howe has said she would be a better ally dead than alive,” Erlina said. “Especially if her death could be blamed on Arl Eamon.”

“Loghain would never agree to that,” Fiona insisted. “When did you hear of this? How do you know?”

“One servant is much like another, Mistress,” Erlina said with the ghost of a smile. “Elves even more so.”

“Is it possible that Howe is trying something behind Loghain's back?” Teagan suggested. “There was that business with the Couslands...”

“What business was that?” Kitranna asked.

Teagan shook his head. “Over a year ago, before the battle at Ostagar, the Cousland family was killed. I don't know by who, but what I do know is that Howe declared himself Teryn after the death of Teryn Cousland.”

“Loghain relies upon Howe very heavily,” Erlina piped up. “He has made himself indispensable.”

“It's possible Howe may be trying for a coup himself, if he's willing to even consider risking the queen's life...” Eamon said. 

Fiona nodded. “The Loghain I know would never dream of hurting his daughter,” she said. “There are certainly other things he has done wrong, but it is not as if there cannot be more than one corrupt noble in court.”

“Exactly,” Teagan said. “Cailan had no heirs, so I suppose it would make sense that after his death—or even before it—other nobles would be attempting to seize power.”

“Well, that's if we even trust this story at all,” Kitranna said, gesturing to Erlina. “What if she's lying?”

“We may have no choice but to trust the Queen,” Eamon said. “She is well-loved—if she dies, and Loghain or Howe succeeds in pinning the death on any of his enemies, namely, me or the Gray Wardens...”

“We'd have no chance at the Landsmeet, royal blood or otherwise,” Alistair sighed. “Wonderful.”

“And that's only if the death of the Queen didn't plunge the entire country into complete civil war,” Teagan said darkly. 

“Alright,” Kitranna said, putting her hands on her knees. “So what do we do?”

“Arl Howe hires many guards,” Erlina said. “And they come and leave quickly as well. A few new ones would not cause a stir.”

“You want us to go in and rescue her ourselves?”

“Are you incapable?”

Kitranna glanced around. “I guess we have to,” she sighed. 

“I can get you inside the estate, to where Her Majesty is being held.” Erlina leaned forward. “We must do this as soon as possible—I do not think she is safe for much longer.”

It was decided that Kitranna, Leliana and Zevran would get inside the estate. It would have been more practical to send either Leliana or Zevran or both, as they had the most experience with subterfuge and infiltration, but Erlina had said that without a Gray Warden, Anora would not be able to trust any potential rescuers. Eamon had not wanted to risk Alistair and there was a possibility that Howe could recognize Fiona if they came across each other, so, Kitranna was the logical choice. 

The Arl of Denerim's estate was quite large, probably larger than Eamon's. Erlina got the three of them inside, where no one gave them a second glance. 

Naturally, breaking the Queen out could not be done without its share of trouble. They came to her chamber and found that someone had put a very strong ward on the door. Kitranna couldn't get rid of it without blowing the door off its hinges and alerting the entire household. 

Anora told them to find the mage who had set the spell, and convince him to take it down. A task easier said than done, but it was more practical than attempting to destroy a whole wing of the house. 

All caution went out the window when they entered Howe's dungeons, where Anora was fairly sure the mage was. Apparently, Howe liked to torture people on his days off. Erlina hadn't known about it, but that was a possible reason for the high turnover rate of the guards.

The dungeons were filled with a great number of people who seemed as if they wouldn't be missed or were inconvenient if free. So, while searching for the mage, Kitranna decided that it might be a good idea to free all of Howe's illegal prisoners. 

“You are aware this defeats the purpose of subterfuge, no?” Zevran asked her as she searched for the keys to the cells.

Kitranna shrugged. “I don't like prisons.”

“That is becoming more and more clear.”

Of course the rampant freeing of prisoners caused the guards to turn on them, but they were given a helping hand by a prisoner who was suspiciously good with a blade. 

“I thank you for creating such distraction, stranger,” he said after they had dispatched several guards. “I have been waiting days for that opportunity.”

“Who are you?” Kitranna asked. “And why are you not immediately running out of here like everyone else?”

“I am Riordan, senior Gray Warden of Jader.”

“Oh,” Kitranna blinked. “That's convenient—I'm a Gray Warden too.”

“Are you?” Riordan peered at her. “I do not know you.”

“Yeah, well, how long have you been locked up down here?”

“...quite some time.”

“There you go, then. Listen, what are you doing here?”

“For the most part? Attempting to hold my tongue. I was sent when we received no word from King Cailan about the outcome at Ostagar.”

“Nice,” Kitranna drawled. “Wow, really helpful there.”

Leliana elbowed her. “Let him finish speaking!”

Riordan glanced between them, then continued. “The King had invited all the Wardens of Orlais and their support troops to join him, but then...nothing.”

“That's because everyone died at Ostagar and it was a total disaster.”

Riordan nodded. “I learned of that once I came here,” he said, his expression grim. “Our communications had been interrupted by Teryn Loghain, who does not trust Orlesians.”

“How'd you get down here?”

“Arl Howe offered hospitality,” Riordan explained. “I was fool enough to think that neither he nor Loghain knew who I was—or that perhaps Howe did not hold as much animosity towards Orlesians that Loghain did.”

“Nice job,” Kitranna said. “I'm real impressed.”

Riordan frowned. “You must tell me—I have had very little information here. What is the state of things? I have heard that there are more darkspawn--”

“It's a Blight,” Kitranna said. “Archdemon and everything.”

Riordan went pale. “I had the dreams, but I had hoped...”

“Also, we have an errand we need to get to, so if you either want to get out of here or help us, that would be great.”

“You say you are a Warden—are there others?”

“Two more. Right now they're at Arl Eamon's Denerim estate, so you can meet up with them.”

Riordan nodded, then headed further into the dungeons.

“Where are you going?” Kitranna asked. “The way out is the other way!”

“There is a young lady here who does not deserve to be imprisoned,” Riordan said, hurrying down the hall.

“That makes two of them, then.”

Kitranna, Leliana and Zevran followed Riordan, as he appeared to know the layout of the dungeons better than they did. They came to a hall lined with mostly-empty cells, and Riordan made a bee-line for one on the end. 

He made an attempt at picking the lock before Kitranna simply handed him a key. 

“Who're you?” Kitranna asked the person in the cell.

The prisoner leaned forward, so her face could be seen clearly. She was an elf, her eyes and cheeks hollow, her skin sallow. “Uvundar,” she said. “Uvundar Tabris.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kitranna said. “Kitranna Surana.”

“Charmed,” Uvundar said. She looked at Riordan. “Friends of yours?”

“Another Gray Warden,” Riordan explained. The door unlocked and Riordan helped Uvundar to her feet. 

“Riordan, you know they're just going to arrest me again...” Uvundar said with a tired sigh. 

“What'd you do?” Kitranna asked.

Uvundar smirked. “Killed a lord.”

“Impressive,” Zevran said, raising his eyebrows. 

“Why would you do such a thing?” Leliana asked.

Uvundar stretched. “'cos he crashed my wedding and hurt my family. Didn't need much of an excuse, to be honest, but that was a pretty good one.”

“Warden, Mistress Tabris defended herself and her kin from a human noble,” Riordan said. “For this, they threw her in prison.”

“Since when is that a surprise?” Uvundar demanded. “You're from Orlais, Rioridan, you should know better.”

“Listen, this is interesting and all, but we kind of have a queen to rescue,” Kitranna said. “Riordan, like I said, you can meet up with Alistair and Fiona at Arl Eamon's place.” she glanced at Uvundar. “I guess you can go too?”

“How generous of you,” Uvundar said flatly.

“I'm a little pressed for time here. And anyway, if another Gray Warden says you shouldn't be in prison, I think they'll wait a bit before throwing you back in.”

“Surana...” Leliana sighed. 

“Anyway—Riordan, we're looking for a household mage. Seen anyone like that around here?”

“Oh, him?” Uvundar's nose wrinkled. “Down at the end of the hall.”

“Thanks.” Kitranna nodded at the other elf. 

“Should we not look for Howe, as well?” Leliana asked. “He is the cause of many of our troubles...”

“We're trying to rescue the queen, not do a political assassination,” Kitranna said. “No matter how qualified present company may be at doing that.”

“It would be no trouble, really,” Zevran said. 

“Howe is probably still in the dungeons,” Riordan said. “With the mage you seek.”

Kitranna sighed. “...alright, I guess this _is_ turning into a political assassination. Wonderful. You two—get out of here before anything worse happens,” she gestured to Riordan and Uvundar. “Go to Arl Eamon's estate, ask for Fiona and Alistair.”

Riordan nodded, and the two of them left.

They found the mage, who, under threat of getting shanked with a sword, dropped the barrier over Anora's door. 

Howe was a little trickier, but they did find him, deep in the bottom of the dungeons. He stood as if he were waiting for them.

“Well, I see one of the surviving Gray Wardens has decided to stick her nose in somewhere else where it doesn't belong,” Howe said. 

Kitranna took out her sword. “Look, we weren't going to do this, but it's just convenient,” she said. “Unless you wanted to completely change your loyalties and ally with Arl Eamon instead of killing the queen...?”

“If you think I will allow you to take this from me, you are very much mistaken.”

Kitranna shrugged. “I warned you.”

Howe, though well-trained and well-armed, was not a match for three people who had spent the better part of the last year battling darkspawn, and despite having a household mage, he had no defense against magic. He'd either made the mage angry or simply never thought to invest in enchanted armor, either way, it was bad for him. 

They fought him to a standstill, a wound in his gut and frostbite on his hands.

“Maker spit on you,” he snarled. “I deserved more.”

“That's nice,” Kitranna said. Howe collapsed, either unconscious or dead, and they hurried upstairs to free Anora. 

The upstairs was still fairly quiet, the sounds not having carried, and the three of them hurried to Anora's door. They got her out and she and Erlina joined them, hastily escaping the house just before the city guard turned up. 

Crossing Denerim was a nightmare—someone had alerted the guard that Howe had been killed and his various prisoners escaped, and the city was crawling with guards. 

They did manage to return to the estate, however. Riordan and Uvundar had gotten there before them, Riordan meeting with Alistair and Fiona. 

“Maker's breath, the city is in an uproar,” Eamon said when he spotted them. “What did you do?”

“Got the queen,” Kitranna said, and Anora stepped forward.

“Your Majesty—I am—pleased to see you are well,” Eamon said. He focused his attention on Kitranna. “I am hearing rumors that Arl Howe is dead, that someone stormed his dungeons--”

“Ah, we did do that,” Zevran said. “Although I could not say if the Arl is dead.”

Eamon sighed heavily. “What happened?”

“Turns out, I'm not very good at rescue missions,” Kitranna said.

“Nonsense!” Leliana exclaimed. “We are all fine, as is Her Majesty.”

“Fine, I'm not good at _quiet_ missions.”

“That is true.”

They explained how they had found Anora, and the state of Howe's dungeons, including the unlawful prisoners. Anora was fairly certain Howe would have had her killed, but really did not know if Loghain was in on it or not. 

“He's completely paranoid about Orlais,” Anora explained. “And that paranoia extends to other things, including other nobles.”

“Well, where Howe's concerned, it sounds like he was right to be paranoid,” Kitranna said. 

Anora nodded, her expression dark. “It is possible he orchestrated the attack that killed the Couslands,” she said. “I am unsure, but there was an investigation into the matter before Cailan's death.” she looked down. “After he died, the city was in such uproar that the matter was forgotten.” 

“So what's the point in doing all this?” Kitranna asked.

“Why did Loghain betray Cailan?” Alistair demanded.

“That I could not tell you, not for certain,” Anora said. “Loghain is no longer the man I know as my father.” she sighed and rubbed her forehead. “You must understand—if a Blight were to originate in the Wilds, in Ferelden, and we needed Orlesian aid...” Anora trailed off. “The occupation of the Orlesians is still within living memory. We could not appear weak.” her lip curled. “At least, that is how my father sees it.”

“You do not feel the same way?” Fiona asked.

Anora shook her head. “The Blight is too great a threat to spare thought for old hatred,” she said. “So many of our troops were lost at Ostagar—even though my father's actions spared some, many more died. We may need the help of Orlais, and Antiva, and the Free Marches, and many more before this is all over.”

“Well, lucky for you we don't have to go that far yet,” Kitranna said. “The Gray Wardens, it turns out, have old treaties with the Circle of Magi, Orzammar, and the Dalish, so we already have an army handy.”

“That is well,” Anora said. “But Denerim has been in absolute turmoil since Ostagar, it is not simply the nobility,” Anora said. “The unrest is worst in the Alienage. I am not sure why—there were few elves in the army. I think perhaps my father—or Howe—gave them a reason to be angry.”

“Or perhaps the noble who attacked Mistress Tabris had a hand in it?” Riordan suggested quietly. “A Lord Vaughn.”

“Lord Vaughn?” Anora frowned. “I do know that he was attacked and killed by an elf, some months ago...”

“Who is this Tabris?” Eamon asked.

“One of the women in Howe's dungeons,” Kitranna said. “Riordan's friend. Where is she, anyway?” she asked Riordan.

“Still here, when last I looked,” Riordan said. He looked at Anora. “According to her, her engaged was attacked and killed on their wedding day, and Vaughn also attacked her cousin and several others of the Alienage. Mistress Tabris merely defended herself.”

Anora clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I doubt that is the full truth,” she said. “But Vaughn was known for being a deplorable brute.”

“And if an elf had raised a hand to defend herself, they would have arrested her all the same,” Fiona muttered.

Anora rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Even so, surely there are better things the Alienage could be doing than attempting to revolt,” she said. “There are several hundred elves there, the last I knew of, and our forces would also be doing better work focusing on the darkspawn than them.”

“This is a useful lead,” Eamon said. “But we have a more immediate matter.”

“And what is that?”

“One of alliances,” Eamon said.

“Ah—I had hoped we might join forces,” Anora said. “You need evidence for the Landsmeet, this is true. The Alienage will hopefully help to provide it--”

“Couldn't you just tell everyone Howe was planning on killing you?” Kitranna asked. “I mean, maybe Loghain would back down if--”

“I do not think so,” Anora said. “For two reasons. One, my father is not known for backing down from anything in particular. Second, I cannot be sure if he was privy to Howe's plan to kill me.”

“I do not think so,” Fiona said. “He would not do that.”

“I do not think so either,” Anora said. “Or—i hope so. But I cannot trust him as he picks his allies so poorly, and makes choices that endanger the lives of my people and my family.” she looked down at the table. “If he is responsible fo Cailan's death, I cannot trust what else he might do.” she looked up again. “In any case, you not only need evidence for the Landsmeet, but you need a strong candidate for the throne. Considering how I am already holding a throne, it would be advantageous to have me on your side.”

“We do have Alistair,” Kitranna pointed out, gesturing to the man in question.

“Yes, thank you for reminding me,” Alistair sighed. 

Anora glanced at Alistair, then looked away. “I have no doubt that Alistair is biddable enough,” she said. “But royal blood does not change what one knows. Alistair is a Gray Warden—hardly a suitable candidate for the effective ruling of a nation.”

“What have I been trying to tell you all?” Alistair exclaimed. 

“And in any case, if you attempted to put a Gray Warden on the throne, it would only bolster the opinion that the Wardens killed Cailan in order to take control of the country.”

Fiona folded her arms and glared at Arl Eamon. 

Eamon ignored Fiona. “You are indeed capable, but--”

Anora looked at him coldly. “I am the daughter of Ferelden's greatest general. Who do you think has truly ruled this nation for the last five years? Cailan?” she smirked. “Never send a warrior to do a job of a diplomat. I am what you need, not an untested king who doesn't even want the job.”

“Wait a minute...” Kitranna said. “If you're in charge, couldn't people just accuse you of furthering Loghain's interests?”

“Howe _was_ about to kill me, if you recall.” 

“I remember, I was there. But if we put you in charge, the people who were against Loghain might think you've...I don't know, infiltrated our side or something.”

“Surely there is a way to meet in the middle over this?” Riordan said. “I would not advise putting a Gray Warden on the throne myself...”

“See!” Alistair gestured to Riordan. “What have I been telling everyone this whole time?”

“When you come to a decision, I wish to hear about it,” Anora said. “For now, I believe I will retire to my rooms.” she left, allowing them to continue the meeting without her.

Eamon was not in favor of backing Anora.

“This is an alliance of convenience,” Eamon said. “For the moment, we are united against Loghain, but I would not trust her.”

“Why not?” Kitranna asked. “I mean—technically all alliances are alliances of convenience. And when we're done with Loghain, then we'll be allied against the darkspawn.”

“We must think about the further good of Ferelden,” Eamon insisted. 

“Oh, speaking of which--Can you induct other Gray Wardens? Do you have the supplies?” Alistair asked Riordan. “Because we're kind of low on them.”

“Would that I could,” Riordan sighed. 

“The Joining not only requires blood from Darkspawn, but a drop of blood from an Archdemon,” Fiona explained. “I take it that the Ferelden stores were lost?”

“You are correct,” Riordan scowled. “I went to the vault where they were kept, but the blood was not there.”

Alistair sighed. “Great...”

“Before we even think about who we're backing for the throne, we still need to get Landsmeet evidence,” Kitranna said. “Anora said something about the Alienage. Anyone know anything about it?”

“You would be better off asking Mistress Tabris,” Riordan said. “Her Majesty knew some, as well.”

“The Alienage is frequently in a state of unrest,” Eamon said, waving a hand. Fiona muttered something angry in Orlesian that made Riordan grimace. “But perhaps Anora had a point—and we should ask this Tabris if she knows any more.”

As it turned out, Uvundar hadn't left the estate. She was hovering in the hall just outside the meeting room, glaring at people who passed her by. 

“Something the matter in the Alienage?” she said once they explained their concerns. “Well—I've been in prison for a while, so, I can't say I have any idea what that could be about.”

“S'pose we'll have to go in ourselves, then,” Kitranna said with a sigh. 

“If we are going to the Alienage, it would be best to only bring elves,” Fiona said. “Or anyone in our party who is elf-blooded.”

“How would anyone tell who was elf-blooded?” Alistair asked. 

“Can you _not_ tell?” Uvundar raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Well...no, not really.” Alistair rubbed the back of his head. “Don't half-elf children look all human anyway?”

“Not necessarily,” Uvundar said. “I know lots of half-elves who have the big eyes or the nose—one or two with the ears. Sometimes you can just kind of tell.” she winked at Alistair, who flushed. 

“...right,” he said. “Are we sure we should be going there anyway? We already have a lot of evidence against Loghain, don't we?”

“Not enough to sway the Landsmeet,” Eamon sighed. 

“And Anora did bring up a good point—soldiers' energy would be better used on darkspawn than on their own citizens.” Fiona pointed out. “There is no law expressly forbidding elvhen join the Ferelden military—perhaps we can convince some to do so.”

“Don't count on it,” Uvundar said.

Fiona tapped her chin. “No, I suppose not,” she agreed. “But this is still their city. There must be some way they can defend it...”

“Maker knows no one else will defend it for us,” Uvundar said. 

They decided on taking only full-blooded elves with them—even though Uvundar could tell Alistair was a half-elf, she figured less practiced eyes might see the round ears and very tall stature and disagree. Although Morrigan was much slighter and had the brilliant eyes of one with elvhen blood, she also had a less prominent nose and round ears, so she was out as well.

Ultimately, it was only Kitranna, fiona, Zevran and Uvundar who made the trip to the Alienage.


	24. Pestilence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a reminder that i would love to hear your comments :)

The Alienage was currently closed off to most visitors, but Kitranna showed the insignia of a Gray Warden and her group was allowed to pass. 

The Alienage occupied only a small part of the city, but was clearly packed with a large number of people. Buildings stacked on top of each other in all different styles and eras, looking ramshackle and clumsy and squashed. The streets were narrow and winding, and many windows had small gardens in boxes hanging from the outside, but nothing was flowering or in fruit this time of year.

The smell was very—odd. The street was muddy, and there were many beggars and urchins about, and that combined with so many people would make one assume that the smell would be foul, but for some reason it wasn't. To be sure it wasn't exactly a very flowery scent, or very pleasant, but there was some odd smell on the air that wasn't particularly good or bad. 

The Alienage was cut off not only by a gate, but by a canal, though which flowed a stream of foul water. They crossed a bridge to get to the main Alienage, where people stared at them with suspicion, eyes lingering on their weapons and armor. 

Someone quickly recognized Uvundar.

“Tabris!” an older man, begging by the side of the road called out. “That's never the Tabris girl?”

Uvundar looked over. “Zaron,” she said with a smile. “Surely it can't be old Zaron?”

Zaron got to his feet with a groan. “What are you doing back here, girl?” he demanded. “After all that trouble--”

“I'm with the Gray Wardens,” Uvundar said quickly, gesturing to Kitranna and Fiona. “See? I got a pardon from the Arl and everything.”

Zaron squinted at them. “Gray Wardens?” his eyes lingered on the sword that Kitranna had on her back, the staff on Fiona's, the blades at Zevran's side. “Explains what a bunch of elves is doing armed, I guess.” he rubbed the back of his head and narrowed his eyes at Uvundar. “You shouldn't have come back.”

“And why's that?” Uvundar demanded, putting her hands on her hips. “What's going on? I heard there was some fighting or something--”

“Ask your cousin,” Zaron jerked his head towards the center of the Alienage. “Damn girl's getting everyone in a mess of trouble.”

“Shianni?” Uvundar breathed. “She's alright?”

“Alright and picking a fight with anyone who crosses her,” Zaron snorted. “Look, Tabris—just go ask her. And get out of here as soon as you can, don't need you fighting people too.”

“Alright...” Uvundar frowned. 

“Oh—and keep an eye on the bloody friends with knives, yes?” Zaron called as they left. “Last thing we need is more guards getting twitchy!”

“Who's Shianni?” Kitranna asked. 

“My cousin,” Uvundar explained. She smirked. “She bottled Lord Vaughn in the head one time.”  
“Nice,” Kitranna said with an appreciative whistle. 

They came to the center of the Alienage, where an enormous tree stood, easily as large as one of the old oaks in the Brecelian. For some reason the Veil around it felt pressed and warped—not to a dangerous amount, but enough to give it a feeling of magic.

“I like the tree,” Kitranna said. 

“It's a Vhenadahl,” Uvundar explained. “Every Alienage has one. Do they not have trees in the Circle?”

“No,” Kitranna said. “I used to live in a tower.”

“Oh.” Uvundar blinked. “I didn't know that.”

“No one seems to know anything about the Circle,” Kitranna sighed. 

“Do neither of you come from an Alienage?” Uvundar asked Fiona and Zevran.

“I am a mage also,” Fiona said. 

“No, I came from the Crows,” Zevran said. “Alienages do not much like the Crows, and I do not think I would like living in an Alienage.”

They found Shianni next to a long line of elves outside a building that was larger and newer than most of the ones surrounding it. Shianni was currently having a loud argument with—well, everyone, as it turned out.

“If this 'spell' of theirs works, why are half the people they quarantine perfectly healthy?” Shianni demanded. “Everyone who's gone in there hasn't come back out agai—oh.” the crowd was now looking toward Uvundar. 

“Uvundar?” Shianni breathed. 

Uvundar gave a crooked smile. “Yeah.”

Shianni broke away from the crowd, which had begun to murmur to itself, and she and Uvundar embraced.

“I thought I'd never see you again!” Shianni exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Don't tell me she broke out of prison...” one of the elves said with a groan.

“No, I got a pardon from an Arl,” Uvundar said, raising her voice so everyone could hear her. “Absolutely legal. They let me out and everything.”

“The Arl wouldn't do that!” another elf protested. 

“Not the Arl of Denerim, a different one!” Uvundar snapped. “Anyway—Shianni, what's happened? I heard there was trouble!”

“These foreigners say they'll help with the plague, but everyone they've helped has vanished,” Shianni said, pointing towards the large building. Outside the front there were several humans, two heavily armored, one in mage robes. 

“That's not true, and you know it, Shianni,” one of the elves in the crowd said. “My two daughters went there and came back, and they're fine.”

“What about your niece?” Shianni demanded. “What about Cyrion, and Valendrian?”

“What's happened to my father?” Uvundar exclaimed in alarm. 

“Those foreigners came in when the plague started getting bad, and set up that quarantine there--” Shianni pointed at the large building. “Most of the people they take don't come back—one of them was Cyrion, and they took Hahren Valendrian too.”

“At a guess, I would say this is the source of the 'unrest,'” Zevran murmured in Kitranna's ears. 

Kitranna nodded. 

“I complained, and Valendrian did too,” Shianni was saying. “The guards have to know about it--”

“They don't, actually,” Kitranna said, exchanging a look with Fiona. “Or at least, no one's told us.”

Shianni glanced at Kitranna and the others over Uvundar's shoulder. “Ah—who are your friends?”

“They're Gray Wardens,” Uvundar said. 

“I'm Kitranna Surana, that's Fiona, and that's Zevran Arainai,” Kitranna said, stepping forward. “Nice to meet you.”

“Gray Wardens?” Shianni blinked. “A Gray Warden came through here, months and months ago—after you got arrested, actually,” she told Uvundar.

“Oh?” Fiona said. “Who was this Gray Warden?”

“He didn't stay long. I think he was looking for recruits, but he didn't find anyone.” Shianni shook her head. “Why are you here? What do you mean, the guard doesn't know about this?”

“Well, we're here to help--or we're trying to,” Kitranna said. “And no one told us about any quarantine.”

Fiona narrowed her eyes and looked up at the quarantine building. “That would have been useful to know,” she said. “We could have brought Wynne—even a human spirit healer would be tolerated, at least.” a muscle in her jaw ticced. “I think it likely that the guard simply did not pass on the message to higher authority,” she said. “Which would be why we know nothing about it.”

Shianni shook her head. “Makes sense. They don't care—or something worse.”

“Well—Fiona, you're a healer,” Kitranna said. “We could just go talk to the guards and I bet they'd let you in, see what was going on.”

“They won't,” Shianni said, her expression dubious. 

“They might—and if they don't let in a Gray Warden spirit healer, we'll know for sure they're up to something very bad.”

Kitranna and Fiona walked towards the men at the building's door, Zevran at their back. The crowd watched them, fascinated, muttering to themselves. 

Before they could get the chance to talk to the man in mage robes, a guard stood in their way. He had a uniform different from the Denerim guard.

“Elves cannot carry weapons here,” the guard said, folding his arms.

“We're Gray Wardens,” Kitranna explained. “We have a seal and everything, see?” she held hers out, and Fiona raised hers. 

“What about you?” the guard snapped, glancing at Zevran. “You have no Gray Warden seal.”

“And as it happens, I have no weapons,” Zevran said, spreading his hands. And indeed, the blades that were normally at his sides had vanished.

The guard narrowed his eyes at him, confused. “But I could have sworn...” he shook his head. “You are wearing armor.”

“I was not aware that was a crime.”

“Why wear armor if you carry no weapons?”

“Perhaps it is because I am in the company of Gray Wardens?” Zevran suggested. 

“Enough,” the mage growled, pushing the guard out of the way. “What do two Gray Wardens want here?” he demanded. “It is not safe here for visitors—many people are carrying the plague.”

“We have business here,” Fiona said. “We did not know about the disease. I am a spirit healer, and entirely capable of dealing with plagues.” she looked the mage up and down. “What we wish to know is why the Tevinter Imperium is here?”

“It is hardly in the best interests of the Imperium to allow a plague to spread,” the man said. “We are not immune.”

“You are not close, either,” Fiona said with narrowed eyes. “Plagues take time to spread across a sea, with many miles between here and there. Why do you busy yourselves with an elvhen Alienage?”

“This isn't your concern,” the man insisted. “Gray Warden or no--”

“It is our concern if Tevinter has decided to stick its great beak into Ferelden affairs!” Fiona snapped. “Did you get permission to do this? Who authorized this? Does the city guard honestly much appreciate Tevinters setting up shop in their city?”

“It is an _Alienage_ ,” the man hissed. “Without us, these people would all be dead of plague by now.”

Fiona straightened her back. “And the Imperium is ever so magnanimous when it comes to the elvhen, yes?” she snarled. “What. Are. You. Doing here? You can tell me, or you can speak to Arl Eamon.”

The man pursed his lips. “We are entirely authorized to be here, Warden,” he snapped. “If you could please move aside, and not waste any more of our time--”

“If you're authorized, then show me your documentation,” Fiona said, refusing to budge. “I have mine. Do you have yours?”

“We have nothing to prove to you.”

Kitranna picked at her fingernails. “In times of a Blight—which we're in—I'm pretty sure Gray Warden authority supersedes that of...whatever you are,” she looked down her nose at the man. 

“I am afraid I've never heard of that particular ordinance,” the man said, folding his arms. “Now if you would please stand aside--”

Fiona turned on her heel. “Do you really trust this shem foreigner to treat you and your children?” she asked of the queue, raising her voice so she could be heard. 

“You're Orlesian!” came a voice from the back of the line. 

“Yeah, but, she's not a human,” Kitranna said. “And I'm Ferelden.” she glanced down at Fiona. “What are you thinking?” she asked. 

“Set up a counterdefense,” Fiona muttered. “I am a Gray Warden, and a healer, and I tell you that this entire quarantine reeks of a farce.” she tapped her chin, then her eyes widened, as if a thought struck her. She raised her voice again. “Tevinter slavers can and have used situations like this to capture people! I would strongly suggest that until your Hahren returns and can prove otherwise, that you stay away from this place.”

At the mention of slavers, the crowd began to mutter to itself again.

“Is that true?” Shianni asked, horrorstruck. “Do slavers really do that?”

Fiona nodded. “I have seen it before,” she said, her voice raised so that the others could hear it. “Not so common in the south, no, but entirely possible,” she aimed a glare at the men at the gates. “So I suggest you listen to Mistress Shianni when she says this place is dangerous.”

“We are not slavers,” one of the men said, grabbing Fiona's shoulder. 

Fiona shrugged him off. “Then prove it,” she snapped. “Prove that you are legally allowed to be here, and that there is a good reason for doing so. If that is the case, then we shall leave you be. If not, we shall inform Arl Eamon of this.” she put her face very close to his. “And I will _ensure_ he listens.”

There was some aggressive staring, and the Tevinters looked at each other for a few minutes, then sighed and called for the infirmary to be closed for the rest of the day. The rest of the elves who hadn't been frightened off by Fiona's talk of slavery left, muttering to themselves. 

“That was amazing!” Shianni exclaimed. “How'd you get them to do that? I never got them to do that.”

“It is truly remarkable what one can do with a Gray Warden seal and a noble who is in debt to one,” Fiona said. 

“Do you really think they're slavers?” Shianni asked. Uvundar scowled.

“I do not know for certain, but I would not be surprised,” Fiona said, her lips pursed.

“Slavers are barred from operating in Ferelden though, are they not?” Zevran said. “Surely even in an Alienage guards would take exception to foreigners operating on their land, if nothing else.” he tapped his lips. “Unless they managed to set up some kind of deal with a noble, which is entirely possible.”

Shianni and Uvundar looked at each other.

“That is possible,” Uvundar said slowly. “Considering the nobles here.”

Zevran nodded. “Never underestimate the power of greed to circumvent, well...just about everything else.” he said. 

“Come,” Fiona said. “We've gotten the clinic closed, but we still need to do investigations of our own,” She shook her head. “Nothing about this sounds right to me.”

“No, it certainly does seem suspicious,” Zevran agreed, tapping his lips with one finger. “What do you propose we do?”

“There's a back way into the clinic,” Shianni said. “It'll be locked, though.”

“Not a problem.” Zevran said. “And if it is a problem, I suppose we could always simply blast the door down.”

“I would rather that we not do that,” Fiona said. 

So, they went to the back way.

“How'd you do that trick with the knives?” Kitranna muttered to Zevran on their way there.

Zevran smirked. “Long practice,” he said. “Do you think an assassin can afford to always appear very armed?”

“I suppose not.” 

The back door was locked, but unguarded. Zevran managed to pick it open with only a slight amount of difficulty, and Fiona, Kitranna and Zevran went in while Shianni and Uvundar waited outside. There were several people inside, all human, no elves. They managed to sneak past them to a back room, where they did find elves—inside a _cage_. 

The air around Fiona heated up. 

“You help them,” she instructed Kitranna and Zevran, pointing to the cage. “I'll deal with the rest.”

She turned on her heel and left, for the main room. Kitranna and Zevran glanced at each other, then turned their attention to the elves in the cage.

“Are you alright?” Kitranna asked the group while Zevran got to work on the locks. “Why are you here?”

“They're slavers,” hissed a woman with a black eye. The sound of screaming came from the main room, short and loud and abruptly cut off. 

“What'll happen if you escape?” Kitranna asked, as Zevran pried the door open. “Will they come after you?”

“Not sure,” said another man. “They might.”

“They will not,” Fiona growled, coming to the entrance. Her robes were spattered with blood and her expression was one of abject fury. “I will not allow it. Where are the others?”

“Don't know,” said the woman, while the other elves took the chance to flee. “Maybe one of the other buildings?”

“Will you be safe here?” Fiona asked. “Do you have a home to return to?”

“Well, maybe not now that I've been gone so long,” the woman said. “But—I should be safe enough. If you catch the rest.”

“We will,” Fiona promised. 

They left the building (sidestepping the burnt corpses of the guards that Fiona had killed), to meet back up with Uvundar and Shianni.

“I was right,” Fiona said. “It is slavers.”

Uvundar and Shianni both cursed. 

“I knew it!” Shianni spat, curling her hands into fists. “I _knew_ there was something wrong with that place!”

“Do you know where the rest might be?” Kitranna asked. “Where else would slavers hold up?”

Shianni and Uvundar both thought. 

“There are plenty of old buildings they could be,” Uvundar said. “The houses here are close together, though, you can hear everything that goes on in them.” she stroked her chin. “They've have to be somewhere derelict--”

“Are you sure they won't just be outside the Alienage?” Shianni asked. “Couldn't they just leave?”

Fiona shook her head. “I believe they would draw more attention if they operated in Denerim, but outside the Alienage,” she said. “Denerim's guards are far more watchful in the human districts.” her lip curled in a sneer.

“That's true,” Shianni agreed. “Well—there are some older warehouses, on that side,” she pointed to the appropriate end. “They're too rotten for anyone to live in, even here.”

“Then that is where we shall look,” Fiona said with a definitive nod. 

“What will you do?” Shianni asked.

“The same thing I did with the other slavers—kill them.”

“Do you want to come?” Kitranna asked Shianni.

Shianni shook her head. “No, I couldn't,” she said. “I don't know the first thing about weapons.” she glanced at her cousin. “What about you?”

“And risk getting arrested again?” Uvundar shook her head. “Let the Gray Wardens handle the fighting,” she grinned. “For now.”

So Fiona, Kitranna and Zevran set off through the tenements, towards the warehouses. The warehouses could not be accessed from the street anymore, so they had to pass through several buildings to get to where they were going.

They did find the larger slaver operation, with several more captive elves. The man in charge was a Tevinter mage, like the man who had been running the 'clinic,' and he didn't get a single word in edgewise before Fiona fireballed him. 

Uvundar's father, Cyrion, was among the captive elves, but the Hahren was not. Still, that was more elves than would have been rescued otherwise.

“Do you know where any of the other elves may have been taken?” Fiona asked Cyrion.

“I have no idea,” he said with a sigh. “The magister, or whatever he was—had some documents, but I never got a close look at them.”

Cyrion and the other elves left quickly, eager to put the place behind them, but Kitranna, Fiona and Zevran stayed to see what they could find. Fiona searched the head slaver's body, but found nothing. She did, however, find a stack of documents on a nearby table. 

She picked one up and looked it over, and her eyes widened. “No,” Fiona breathed. She dropped the document and curled her hands into fists. “I cannot believe— _je no comprende_ \--”

“What?” Kitranna picked up the papers that Fiona had dropped. She looked it over—it was an official document allowing the selling and buying of slaves by the Tevinters, and it had Loghain's official seal on it. “...ah.”

Zevran looked at it over her shoulder. “It seems someone had a vested interest in keeping this from reaching the ears of those who might have stopped it,” he said.

Fiona was pacing back and forth. Occasionally she would mutter something in Orlesian to herself.

“Fiona,” Kitranna said. “We have to get back to Shianni and Uvundar, and Eamon. Tell them about this.”

Fiona glanced at her, nodded. “ _Porquoi_ \--” she began, then shook her head. “Why would he do this?” she said to herself. “There is no reason, none at all--”

“We can ask him at the Landsmeet, I'm sure,” Kitranna said. “Now come on—Maker only knows what's happened since we've been gone.”

 

The three of them went back to the Alienage square, where Shianni was pacing back and forth by the Vhenadahl. She took them back to Cyrion's house, where Cyrion and Uvundar were having an alternately tearful and angry reunion. 

“You really couldn't find Valendrian?” Shianni asked.

Kitranna shook her head. “No, I'm sorry,” she said. 

“It is possible he and many other elves have already been taken out of Ferelden,” Fiona said, her lips pursed. 

“Is there anything we can do to find them?” Shianni asked. 

“We can try,” Fiona said. “We can ask Arl Eamon if he is willing to spare anyone to look, but chances are that nothing will come of it.”

Shianni closed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. “I just—if Valendrian's gone, I don't know who's going to be Hahren next.”

“Did he have children?”

“No,” Shianni shook her head. 

Cyrion and Uvundar came to join them. Both of them had red eyes, but other than that they were composed. Cyrion had his arm around Uvundar's shoulders, holding her as if he were worried that she would vanish if he let go.

“I'm sure we'll figure it out,” Uvundar assured Shianni. She turned her attention to Kitranna. “What are you going to do now?”

“Inform Eamon that Loghain was selling slaves,” Fiona growled. 

“What good will that do?”

“Hopefully, it'll let us oust Loghain from office,” Kitranna said, waving a hand. “We just needed a bit more evidence that he was going wrong—now we have it.”

“What about us?” Shianni asked. “What do we do next?”

“I would advise you pick a new Hahren,” Fiona said.

A thought struck Kitranna. “If you wanted to join the Gray Warden army, we wouldn't have any problems with that,” Kitranna said. 

“We don't have many warriors here...” Uvundar said. “No one can carry weapons, remember?”

Cyrion raised his eyebrows at her. "I don't recall that that stopped you from learning how to use a blade," he said. 

Uvundar flushed. "I mean--Papa, you know I--"

Kitranna cut her off before Uvundar and Cyrion could start arguing again. "It's your city, isn't it? You could at least talk with us.”

“Perhaps a new Hahren could speak with the Dalish ambassador,” Fiona suggested. “I believe she is on her way here, yes?” she glanced at Kitranna.

“Last I checked, she was.”

“The Dalish?” Shianni breathed. “You've seen them?”

“Seen, met, helped out, signed a treaty with. Yep. Oh,” Kitranna added, remembering something. “They don't speak Common—I mean they do, but they speak more Dalish. So, you know, watch out for that.”

“And they can be...odd about city elves,” Zevran added. “Some even cruel. But the ones we met were pleasant enough.” 

“Odd?” Shianni asked. “What do you mean?”

Zevran smirked. “They do not always consider themselves kin with city elves,” he said. “But, Clan Leanvunlas takes in elves from the cities and the Circle, so I do not believe they will have such a problem with you.”

“The Dalish and the Alienages should work together,” Fiona said firmly. “It is a disgrace how we have had so little contact with each other.” she frowned. “Perhaps you may speak with a Circle representative as well...”

“If we did that, perhaps we could speak with some of our people who have gone to the Circle,” Cyrion said. 

Shianni nodded. “We could!”


	25. Triptych

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's a little late--life got in the way

Fiona slammed the door open, making everyone inside jump. 

“Wardens--” Eamon started. “You've returned--”

Fiona whipped the documents from the slavers out of her robe and slapped them down on the table. “Loghain has been selling slaves!” she exclaimed, pointing at the papers. 

“What?” Anora picked up a paper and read it quickly, her face draining of blood. “What possible reason could he...” she trailed off. 

“What is it?” Eamon said. 

“The rebellion,” she murmured. She rubbed her face. “There was unrest in the Alienage, so he dealt with it in the fastest possible manner with the least possible suspicion.”

The air around Fiona heated up considerably.

“We can certainly take this to the Landsmeet,” Eamon said, looking over the documents himself. “Allowing Tevinter slavers to operate on Ferelden soil? Even his most ardent supporters will have to admit he is in the wrong.”

“Do you not care for the elves that have been hauled off to Tevinter?” Fiona demanded. “There's at least twenty people missing from the Alienage—likely far, far more!”

“Of course,” Anora said. “It is of great concern—we cannot have Tevinter preying upon our people.”

“They were targeting _elves_!” Fiona snapped. “They _knew_ the Alienage was vulnerable, they _knew_ that it would bother no one if a few elves went missing! It was reported that there were Tevinters doing business in the Alienage, that there was disease there, but no one outside of the Guard or Loghain heard about it, and no one cared that the Alienage had been sealed off!”

“There is disease in the Alienage?” Anora asked, surprised.

“ _Yes_!” Fiona was almost shouting now. “The Tevinters were operating under the guise of healers—that is how they coerced people into coming to them!”

“This was reported?” Eamon said. “We can't have disease in the city—it makes no sense that the Guard would not have informed someone higher--”

“Unless, of course, Loghain were actively suppressing the information,” Zevran piped up. 

“Why would he do that?” Anora said. “Disease benefits no one—it spares no one--” she looked down at the slaver documents and scowled. “If this was simply to quell the rebellion in the Alienage--”

“Rebellion caused when a woman was arrested for defending herself and her family from human nobility!” Fiona snapped, jabbing a finger in Anora's direction. 

“She still killed a man,” Eamon said. “Even if she was defending herself--”

“The Alienage was attacked by a human noble, and then they were targeted by slavers!” Fiona threw her hands up. “Slavers who were allowed there by Loghain himself! This would not have happened, had the Alienage had their own representative!” Fiona exclaimed. “If you treated them like they were _people_ instead of--”

“Peace!” Anora held her hand up. “This is not the time for the discussion of these problems.”

“If not now, then when?”

“Perhaps to prevent this sort of thing, in the future, the Alienage _should_ have a representative of their own,” Anora said, a frown between her eyebrows. “We cannot have foreigners operating on Ferelden soil without us knowing about it.”

“And there is the matter of slavers,” Fiona growled. 

“Yes, of course.” Anora sighed and rubbed her forehead, her expression pinched. “This has gone too far. My father not only incites civil war among the nobility, but to commit such an action against the people of Denerim--” she turned to Eamon. “This is the last of the evidence we need.”

“You're so sure that the nobles will care about the elves?” Kitranna asked, folding her arms. “Because it seems like no one really cares.”

“Perhaps not the elves themselves,” Anora admitted. “But Tevinters doing their business on Ferelden land? That is something they will care about.”

Kitranna sighed, and leaned back on the table. “So, when can we get the Landsmeet together, then?” she asked. “The darkspawn are still coming.”

“The Landsmeet attends in two days,” Eamon said. “We will meet Loghain then.”

Kitranna nodded. “Great. Is there anything else I have to do?”

There was not, so Kitranna took the time to take a much needed rest. 

 

It was quite late at night when Zevran went to the room that he was using, and found someone already waiting there for him. 

“The Crows send their regards,” said Taliesen, who leaned casually against the window that opened to the outside. 

Zevran raised his eyebrows, watching Taliesen carefully. “I am somewhat alarmed at the ease with which you broke in here,” he admitted. 

“Perhaps you are slipping,” Taliesen said. 

“Always possible, not likely.” Zevran closed the door behind him, not taking his eyes off of Taliesen. The man was taller than Zevran, lighter, with an accent that sounded more Fereldan than Antivan. “So, the Crows sent you to find me. Or did you volunteer for the job?”

Taliesen smirked. “I volunteered, of course. When I heard the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself.”

“Is that so?” Zevran tilted his head to one side. “Well here I am, in the flesh.”

“You can return with me,” Taliesen urged, straightening up. “I know why you did this, and--”

“You know no such thing,” Zevran cut across him. 

Taliesen snorted. “Rinna.”

“A simple answer, something I've come to expect from you,” Zevran said with a sigh. “You merely betray your utter lack of information—a dangerous habit, but again, expected.”

“Oh? Then what is the answer?”

“Have you paid no attention at all to the darkspawn currently gathering in the south?”

Taliesen chuckled. “A Ferelden problem—and I don't think you would risk your standing and your neck just to save a bunch of dog-lords.”

“True,” Zevran agreed. “But there are a large number of other people I would be saving as well.”

Taliesen sighed. “Look—come back and we'll make up a story,” he urged. “Anyone could make a mistake.”

“And why would I do that?”

“You know what happens if you don't.”

“It does not have to happen,” Zevran told him. “I have choices, as do you.”

Taliesen shook his head, and opened his mouth, and in an instant was pinned against the wall by one of Zevran's blades. 

He sucked in a startled breath, his and Zevran's faces suddenly very close. 

“I would prefer not to kill you,” Zevran said. “But there is nothing that tells me I should not. So, do you wish not to die?”

“Met another woman, did you?” Taliesen hissed. “Or a man, whichever?”

“You seem to enjoy the simplest explanation, don't you?”

Taliesen curled his free hand into a fist, and Zevran grabbed his wrist. 

“What did you do to convince the Wardens not to kill you?” Taliesen snarled. “You sleep your way through their ranks, or did you change it up this time?”

“You are not helping your case.”

“My loyalty is to the Crows.”

“Then that is very sad for you.” Zevran sighed, and cut Taliesen's throat. The man slumped to the ground, trying to close the wound, but he quickly bled out and was soon quite dead. 

Zevran wiped his blade off, then looked down at Taliesen's body with a scowl. Trust Taliesen to break into the Arl's house instead of having a fight in the street like a decent person. 

 

Morrigan and Kitranna finally had some time to themselves. They had decided to share one of the rooms in Arl Eamon's estate, even though one the road they had tended to sleep in separate tents. 

Kitranna was exhausted from the day's labors, and climbed into bed almost immediately. The beds at the estate were enormous, and much more comfortable than the beds at the Circle. Morrigan hovered on the other side of the room, taking a great while to remove her scarf and her shoes. 

Kitranna watched her. “Something the matter?” she asked with a yawn.

“This is not wise.”

“Sleeping's perfectly wise.”

Morrigan put her hands on her hips. “You know what it is that I speak of.”

Kitranna sighed. “Why don't you just let yourself relax?”

“This is...not something either of us can afford.”

“We've been over this before.” with a groan, Kitranna got out of bed and went over to Morrigan. “We can afford one night, I'm sure we can.”

Morrigan looked away, and Kitranna cradled her face in her hand. “Don't do that,” Kitranna said. “Don't hide.”

Morrigan scowled. “I do not _hide_.”

“Everyone hides from something. But you don't have to hide from me.”

Morrigan leaned into Kitranna's touch. “Surely you are tired,” she said.

“I am.”

“Then we shall sleep,” Morrigan took Kitranna's hand and led her to the bed.

Kitranna pulled the covers over both of them. “Thank the Maker,” she said. “The Alienage was a nightmare and I haven't slept in a proper bed for months.”

Morrigan chuckled. “Nor have I,” she said. "Or ever, perhaps."

Kitranna laughed. "Me either!" she admitted, and pulled Morrigan close.


	26. Deliberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kitranna doesn't have time for this

The next day, Anora met with Kitranna, Eamon, Fiona and Alistair so they could try and work out who exactly would be taking the throne. 

“You marry each other, and all our problems are solved,” Kitranna pointed out.

“I _really_ don't want to be king,” Alistair said with a grimace. “And it would be a bad idea.”

“You're Maric's son,” Eamon pointed out, a frown between his eyebrows. “Who is better suited than you?”

“Maybe the administrator we already have?” Kitranna said, gesturing to a scowling Anora. “But whatever. I still say the marriage option is best.”

“There are _so_ many problems with that,” Alistair said, his gaze straying towards Anora as well. “And I don't even want to do it anyway!”

Anora nodded. “Gray Wardens cannot have children,” she pointed out. “What is to prevent this same problem from occurring in another twenty years time? Or sooner, should the worst come to pass?”

“And the Chantry may have concerns about a Gray Warden taking a throne,” Fiona mentioned, steepling her fingers, a pensive expression on her face. “They leave us alone a great majority of the time, but this would be exactly the kind of thing that would gain their attention.”

“If you don't do it, it could be that we'll have a civil war anyway,” Kitranna said. “If we put Alistair on the throne, and, I don't know, kick Anora into the street or something--” she ignored the outraged sounds that both Anora and Alistair made. “--Loghain's supporters will accuse us of making Alistair a puppet, right? It's not like we have the Divine to tell them he's the Maker's chosen or whatever. And if we pick Anora, we have the same problem, just the other way around.”

“My father has directly endangered my life,” Anora said. 

“It is possible that you could be accused of lying about that,” Eamon said quietly. 

“You have mentioned that,” Anora said, sending a venomous glare in Eamon's direction. 

Kitranna rubbed her forehead. “I mean, look, we want to not have a civil war, right? This seems like the best way to do it.”

They argued for some more time, but it seemed both Anora and Alistair were softening towards the position of marriage. Fiona was still extremely wary of the idea of Alistair taking the throne, and Eamon didn't want Anora to rule. Both Anora and Alistair would have been happier with Anora ruling alone, but all parties saw the benefit in marriage. Eventually, they came to a shaky marriage agreement, something no one was really happy with but everyone saw the advantages of.

Any drastic changes, such as crowning Alistair or marrying the pair, would have to wait until after the Landsmeet, however. 

The day of the Landsmeet, Eamon and Anora went to the Landsmeet hall first, with Kitranna, Alistair and Fiona arriving after the meeting was well in swing. The sight of Kitranna and Fiona sent up gasps and mutters in the assembled crowd, but no one moved to throw them out, so that was a good sign. 

“My Lords and Ladies of the Landsmeet, Teryn Loghain would have you give up your freedoms and traditions out of fear!” Arl Eamon was making his speech from a balcony on one side of the enormous hall. He was in ceremonial armor, and Anora was nowhere to be seen. Presumably she was lurking somewhere out of sight, for the moment. 

“He placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny in his hands?” Eamon continued. Fiona watched him with her arms folded, a scowl on her face. “Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?”

“A fine performance, Eamon,” everyone looked over to see Loghain emerging from a door on the other side. “But no one here is taken in by it.”

Fiona's scowl grew darker, and Alistair had a glare to match. 

“You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne, and every soul here knows it,” Loghain continued. Alistair shifted from one foot to the other, his scowl giving way to a more uncomfortable expression. “The better question is, 'who will pull the strings?'” Loghain caught sight of Kitranna, Fiona and Alistair as they moved through the crowds. “Ah—here we have the puppeteers,” he sneered, pointing to them as they approached. “Fiona, I would have expected better from you—of course, one cannot expect much from _Orlesians._ ”

“ _You_ , expect better from _me_?” Fiona snapped. “You allowed Tevinter slavers to operate in Denerim!”

The crowd began to mutter to itself. 

“And your friend Howe _really_ liked torturing people,” Kitranna added with a smirk. “A _lot_.”

“Howe is responsible for his own actions,” Loghain said, folding his arms. “He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs he has committed in his life—you know that. You were the one who murdered him.”

“Hey now, let's not throw around words like 'murder,'” Kitranna said, holding her hands up. “I mean, come on—didn't you basically get half of the army and your King killed? Not that you exactly had a great plan in the first place...”

“Surana,” Fiona hissed. 

“It was you Wardens who killed Cailan, urging him to die in battle with your grandiose tales of darkspawn and Archdemons!” Loghain accused. 

“Is it really a grandiose tale when darkspawn are banging on your doorstep?” Kitranna said, rolling her eyes. “This entire farce is ridiculous,” she raised her voice to address the crowd. There's an Archdemon in the South, and you want to waste your time having fights with each other!”

“There is no _Archdemon_ ,” Loghain sneered. “The likes of Archdemons have not been seen for hundreds of years, who is to say this entire affair is not a fabrication for you to take the Ferelden throne?”

“For what it's worth, I don't really want the throne,” Alistair piped up.

“There is an Archdemon!” Fiona exclaimed, shocked. “And the longer you delay our efforts with this, the more likely it is that the darkspawn will overrun us all!”

“You say there is a threat, that only you can save us from, yet you have killed Howe and made off with the Queen, my daughter!” Loghain curled his hands into fists, and the crowd began to murmur in a more excited way.

“Only because Howe kidnapped her first,” Kitranna said. 

“I doubt that,” Loghain tilted his head back. “Does she even still live?”

“I believe I can speak for myself,” came Anora's voice from the same balcony that Eamon stood on, and she strode out, to a number of shocked gasps and murmurs from the crowd. “Lords and Ladies of the Landsmeet, my father is not the man you knew. This man his not the hero of River Dane. He turned his troops aside while your King fought against the Darkspawn—he poisoned Arl Eamon, and he allowed Tevinter slavers to prey upon the elves of the Alienage.” she folded her hands and lifted her chin up. “He allied with men like Howe, who tortured and killed many who were undeserving, and who locked me away so that I may not be an inconvenience. I would already have been killed, were it not for the Gray Wardens.” She gestured to Kitranna, Fiona and Alistair. 

“That's pretty much it,” Kitranna said with a nod. “The Queen's right. Now can we _please_ get a move on here?”

“So, the Wardens' influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora?” Loghain said with a slight sigh.

“Your paranoia about Orlais has blinded you to the truth,” Anora said. “So much so that you will do anything to reach you goal—even if it endangers our land, our people!”

Kitranna shook her head. She'd had enough of this. “You'll all die if you don't pull yourselves together to fight the Darkspawn,” she called out to the assembled crowd. “You don't have the time to waste on this nonsense. Half of the Ferelden army was lost at Ostagar—why do you think that is?” she looked at Loghain. “I'm going to advise you to either join up with us, or get out of the way,” she said. “I really, really don't have time for this.”

The assembly muttered to itself—the evidence against Loghain was steep, but his supporters were many, and for many people, the evidence _for_ the Wardens didn't hold up upon close scrutiny.

“You would judge me, would command me?” Loghain exclaimed. “An elf witch who aided a blood mage?”

The crowd stirred. 

“Oh, don't tell me...” Kitranna groaned and closed her eyes.

“I know that the only reason you are not sitting in a cell in Aeonar is because the Wardens recruited you,” Loghain snapped. “Is this who we should put our trust in? Criminal mages?”

“If we're going to pull the 'aiding maleficars' card, I'm going to remind everyone that you paid a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon,” Kitranna snapped. “So we're about even on that front. Also, I think I need to say the whole 'there were slavers literally kidnapping people and it was endorsed by Loghain' thing again.”

“If I were to attempt to assassinate Eamon, I would send my own soldiers,” Loghain dismissed. “I would not work through a rogue maleficar.”

“Curious, Loghain,” called out one noblewoman, a woman dressed in heavy armor. She leaned forward, over the balcony she stood on. “My brother said there was an apostate you met, and let avoid the Chantry's justice. Quite a coincidence, no?”

“Interfering with a Templar's sacred duty is an affront to the Maker,” said a Chantry representative, a Mother whose name Kitranna did not know. “The Chantry will not forget this, Loghain.”

Loghain tilted his head back, glaring down at them. 

There was more posturing, more throwing accusations back and forth. Collectively, the Gray Wardens had more supporters, with the combined might of Eamon and Anora's supporters both. It had been a good idea to get her on their side after all. Some nobles still maintained their alliance with Loghain, even despite all the evidence against him. 

Eventually, Anora called for an end to the meeting, bringing everything to a head. They needed to make a decision quickly and with a minimum of fuss (of course, fuss had already been made, but she was trying to mitigate that). 

Enough people were against Loghain that most of the guards followed Anora's orders. Someone called for a trial by combat, but Anora quickly nixed that idea as idiotic, and Anora removed Loghain as acting monarch. After some scuffling between the guards loyal to Anora and those loyal to Loghain, they did manage to arrest Loghain and hopefully remove him from their hair for the moment. 

It was still uncertain if Alistair and Anora's wedding would indeed go through. They had spoken of it and there had been a generally favorable response, but nothing was very certain, especially now. Anora was the monarch for the moment, and having one leader instead of several vying for control of the throne was the important thing.


	27. Disunification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's time for more dalish positivity 
> 
> also note that i love all elves equally and the dalish, alienage, and circle elves are all as cool as each other (yes, old elves who hang out in ruined temples or wander around and talk to demons are also cool. all elves are cool)

The darkspawn horde had moved further north than they had expected, appearing to bypass Redcliffe and other larger towns and principalities to head straight for Denerim. 

No one had yet seen the Archdemon, but it had to be there. Alistair, Kitranna and Riordan's dreams of the Archdemon grew both in intensity and frequency, and Riordan swore that he could almost make out words when it roared. 

Loghain's quarrels had lost them precious time and allies. No Orlesian Wardens or possible reinforcements would be coming, and any support from the Free Marches or further north would take far too much time. 

Teagan, being the coordinator of the Redcliffe forces, arrived in Denerim several days after Loghain had been arrested. With him came the Dalish, Orzammar, and Circle representatives, all ahead of the bulk of the Wardens' allies. Teagan had asked to meet with Kitranna before they had a larger meeting with all the separate representatives.

“Teagan, good to see you,” Kitranna said when she met with him. Teagan looked haggard but no worse than anyone else. “How are things?”

“Better than they could be, not as good as I would have hoped,” he said, running a hand over his beard.

“What's the problem?” Kitranna tapped a foot on the ground, restless. She'd taken to wearing her armor most of the time, even indoors.

“The darkspawn are moving faster than we anticipated—they picked up speed several weeks ago.”

“We heard, they're coming straight to Denerim for some reason.”

Teagan nodded. “Some of the Clans in the Brecelian have had to deal with darkspawn groups, but for the most part the bulk of the horde is avoiding skirmishes for now.”

“Any reason, do you think?”

“I was hoping you would know.”

Kitranna shook her head. “Sorry—it's not like I can understand the Archdemon.”

Teagan sighed. “And there are other problems as well, among your allies.”

“Such as?”

Teagan rubbed his forehead. “There's still infighting between the Dalish and the Templars...it's gotten bad.”

“Bad how?” Kitranna asked, narrowing her eyes.

Teagan paused. “Do you know of those...emotionless mages?”

“The Tranquil? Yeah, obviously. What do they have to do with this?” she folded her arms and suppressed a shiver. Even if one lived with Tranquil all their life, they never stopped being unnerving.

“One of the Dalish recognized one of the Tranquil during a meeting a few months ago.”

“Oh,” Kitranna frowned. “Not good?”

“The Tranquil was apparently his daughter.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Kitranna covered her mouth. “ _Definitely_ not good.”

“No, not particularly.” Teagan sighed. “And there's other conflicts, as well. The dwarves are beginning to take sides, and there are several elvhen Circle mages who've given the Templars the slip and joined up with the Dalish. I'm sure the Templars would be attempting to go after the Dalish mages if they had more people and time.”

“Not surprising,” Kitranna said, curling her lip. She rubbed the back of her head. “Have Oshathyla and whoever's representing the Templars spoken at all?”

“The last time they did that, they nearly came to blows. Mistress Oshathyla does not wish to speak with the Templars in any capacity, and Knight-Captain Gregoire does not wish to speak with her.”

Kitranna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well—we just have to have everyone get along until we kill the Archdemon.”

Teagan nodded. “Mistress Oshathyla is worried about the long-term ramifications of this alliance,” he said. “Apparently many of the Dalish Clans are concerned that they will be targeted by Templars and other humans after the Archdemon is dead.” he leaned back on his heels. “And there have been problems between some of the dwarves and the Templars, also.”

“Yeah—you said they're picking sides?”

“Many of the dwarves don't take kindly to the Templars' use of lyrium.”

Kitranna blinked. “But they're the ones who _sell_ the lyrium.”

Teagan shrugged. “That's just what Ambassador Talvi told me. Some of Redcliffe's forces don't like the Dalish, the mages, or the dwarves, there have been a few fights between the mages and Redcliffe's soldiers...”

“Well, pretty soon they'll all have someone else to fight with,” she said. “Anything else?”

Teagan hesitated. “It is beginning to seem as if we must pick between Dalish and Templar assistance,” Teagan said after a moment. “I am not exaggerating the hostilities—several Dalish Clans split from the alliance entirely when they learned of Templar involvement. There have been many fights, quite a great deal of arguing, and for all the tensions everywhere else, at least the other representatives continue speaking to each other. Mistress Oshathyla and Knight Commander Gregoire refuse to even be in the same room.”

“We can't split up our forces now!” Kitranna exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Not with the darkspawn on our heels and—we've _just_ gotten the Landsmeet sorted!”

“I know that as well as you,” Teagan said. 

Kitranna shook her head. “How long do you think we have till the horde reaches Redcliffe?” she asked.

“Three months, at the most.”

Kitranna swore. “And at the least?”

“Six weeks.”

“Wonderful. Well—I suppose we need to get them both into a room and work this out somehow.”

Teagan grimaced. “Easier said that done. Now—about Anora taking the throne...”

“What about it?”

“Are you sure she's trustworthy?”

“Well, she threw Loghain in prison, so she's not all bad. Anyway, she and Alistair are going to get married. Probably.”

“Probably?”

“It depends on if we all don't die.”

Teagan nodded. 

“The point is that someone is in charge, and that that someone isn't a paranoid bastard who wants to kill me.”

“A benefit, I must agree,” Teagan said. 

After much struggle, they did manage to wrangle Oshathyla and Knight Commander Gregoire into the same room. Ambassador Talvi was there as the dwarven representative as well, so there were at least some buffers between the Templar and the Dalish woman. 

“Alright,” Kitranna said while Oshathyla and Gregoire glared daggers at each other. “I'm told there's some problems between the Dalish and the Templars. What's the issue here?”

“The Dalish Clans house many apostates,” Gregoire growled. “And they perform many forbidden magics—speaking with demons, summoning demons, I am sure there are blood mages and other maleficar--”

“Alright, that's great,” Kitranna cut Gregoire off. “Mistress Oshathyla? Problems?”

Oshathyla glowered at Gregoire while she said “One of the Tranquil mages was of Clan Uvunlan—Doshiel Menalle Uvunlan. We thought she was dead, but apparently, the Circle _stole_ her and then _mutilated_ her. There are several other Clans who have lost children, and we worry that they are in the Circle as well.”

“That young lady _asked_ to be made Tranquil,” Gregoire snapped, placing his hand on the table. “She worried that she would not have passed the Harrowing, and that she would be a danger to those around her.”

“That does not change the fact that you stole her from Clan Uvunlan!”

“I was under the impression that the Dalish _abandon_ mage children,” Gregoire sneered.

“If that were so, then you would not be stealing them from us, now would you?” Oshaethyla growled. 

“Yeah, that abandoning children thing?” Kitranna said, picking at her nails. “That's a lie. It doesn't happen.” she looked Gregoire dead in the eyes. "Though I think you probably knew that."

“Even if there was a Clan that did, Clan Uvunlan certainly does _not_ abandon their own children,” Oshathyla said, folding her arms.

“So, Gregoire, I'm gonna have to go with Oshathyla on this one, but that still doesn't change the fact that you people need to work together for at least the next few months.” Kitranna said.

“Our people cannot possibly work with child-thieves!” Oshathyla exclaimed, throwing a hand in the air. “We have enough worries as it is without being concerned that the Templars will take our children in the night!”

“And we have enough concerns without rogue mages doing as they please,” Gregoire snapped. 

“There been any demon problems so far?” Kitranna asked.

“No,” Oshathyla said. 

“Werewolf problems?”

“No.”

“Spells backfiring?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well, then, Gregoire, looks like you're going to have to suck it up and leave the Dalish alone,” Kitranna said. “Because the last demon attack I saw was in the Circle, so it's not like you'd be doing a great job at stopping any other ones.”

“But--” Gregoire began, but Kitranna cut him off.

“The darkspawn are close,” Kitranna said, placing her hands palms-down on the table. “The Archdemon is close. They're going to roll right over this country, and that includes everyone, and unless we all stick together and fight the things we're all going to get eaten. Save the infighting till later.”

“I have lists of Dalish elves the Templars stole from our Clans!” Oshathyla exclaimed. “We cannot simply ignore that!”

“And we cannot ignore the maleficars and apostates that populate your army,” Gregoire insisted, aiming a glare at Oshathyla. 

“Look, if it were any other time, I'd tell you to have at each other to your heart's content,” Kitranna said. “But the fact is that _we are all we have_. There are no reinforcements coming for months, there are a grand total of _four_ Gray Wardens in this country, Ferelden's military is already completely decimated from Ostagar and the nobles' infighting, and you can bet that no one wants or is going to get aid from the Orlesian military. If we don't stop the Archdemon _right now_ it won't _be_ stopped.”

Oshathyla and Gregoire both sat back and glared at each other. 

“I mean, really, I'm all for anything that inconveniences Templars,” Kitranna said. “But darkspawn are also bad for everyone else, so we can't really do this right now.” she looked at Gregoire. “I just want you to know that the Gray Wardens support the Dalish, not you.” she looked at Ambassador Talvi. “What about you, Ambassador? Anything going on I should know about? Heard that some of the dwarves don't like the Templars either. I can get behind that--" she ignored Gregoire's snort and venemous glare at this pronouncement. "--but I kind of want to know why.”

Ambassador Talvi sighed. “Many of our warriors come from Mining caste backgrounds,” she said. “And when they learned what it is exactly that Templars do with lyrium—well, some people got upset. It's not really a big problem.”

“Big enough for you to mention.”

Gregoire coughed. “Well, a few Templars have gotten an earful from dwarves about the use of lyrium,” he said, suddenly looking sheepish. “And I have had to hear about it.”

Oshathyla smirked. 

“Yeah, I don't care,” Kitranna said. “As hilarious as I find it when Templars are getting shouted at, I would appreciate it if you all got along.”

“But what if the Templars—or other humans—attack our Clans when the Blight is done with?” Oshathyla asked. “Warden, the Dalish alliances with humans have not gone well in the past, if you recall.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kitranna said, heaving a sigh. "I've studied history too, y'know."

“We are putting ourselves in a vulnerable position. You cannot say that this will not endanger us.”

“Surely we can promise you that the Ferelden people will not attack Clans who have helped them so,” Teagan interjected. He glanced at Gregoire. “I can say nothing for the Chantry, but I would hope that they focus their efforts on apostates of immediate danger.”

“You cannot promise that,” Oshathyla said. “If you recall, we no longer have a homeland, and _that_ was promised by your Andraste herself.”

“...ah.” Teagan looked away and rubbed the back of his head. "Yes."

“Well...” Kitranna tapped her thumb on her lip. “I _can_ promise you that we'll all die if we don't defeat the Darkspawn.”

“I am well aware of that.” Oshathyla was not moved.

“Well that's...good, right?”

Oshathyla let out a humorless chuckle. “Does it do us any good if we will simply be hounded and attacked afterwards anyway?” she shook her head and leaned back. “We are but several thousand,” she said. “What need have you of us? We could leave and you would be none the lesser for it.”

“Well--sure we would," Kitranna said, spreading her hands.

“How so?”

"Only about a hundred mages survived the demon attack in the Tower," Kitranna glared at Gregoire as she said this. "And mostly that was kids and the elderly--we only have a couple battlemages and trained healers. That's not even getting into the losses at Ostagar. Without your people, we'd have a lot fewer healers and warriors--and we need all the help we can get. Darkspawn aren't something you can out-maneuver easily."

Oshathyla looked dubious.

Ambassador Talvi leaned forward. “Could Orzammar help at all?” she asked. “We hardly want to be killed by an Archdemon either. If we promise to continue our alliance with the Dalish until after the Blight, would you stay?”

“Why would you do that?” Oshathyla asked. 

“Orzammar has no mages, if you'll recall,” Talvi said. 

“I also recall that the dwarves have not stepped forward to help the People in many hundreds of years.”

“Queen Aeducan wishes to have better relations with the surface. This is one way to go about that.”

“You would willingly let maleficar and apostates into your city?” Gregoire asked.

Talvi looked at Gregoire, a flat expression on her face. “We are dwarves,” she said, as if Gregoire might have forgotten. “There is little about magic that troubles us.”

“Even demons?”

Talvi shrugged. 

Gregoire scowled. “Then I suppose you will learn better.”

“Right,” Talvi drawled. “I'm sure.”

“Alright, great,” Kitranna said. “So if the two of you want to work that out, that'd be wonderful, but for now, are all the alliances sticking around?”

Everyone agreed, even Oshathyla. 

Kitranna sighed in relief and sat back. “Wonderful.”

After the meeting, Kitranna went to speak with Oshathyla in private. “Mistress Oshathyla,” Kitranna said. “I was wondering if you'd be interested in speaking to the Denerim Alienage?”

“The Alienage?” Oshathyla grimaced. “I am not sure...why do you ask?”

Kitranna shrugged. “I know Alienage elves have mages too. I mean--they've got an apostate or two hanging around.”

“And...?”

“ _And_ maybe if they know your people better, fewer of their mages will end up in the Circle,” Kitranna said.

A look of understanding dawned on Oshathyla's face. “Ah, I see.” she said. 

Kitranna narrowed her eyes. “You have a problem?”

“Well...my Clan accepts city elves,” Oshathyla said. “Other Clans do not, and some reject city elvhen as kin entirely.”

“Why? We all have pointy ears, don't we?”

“Racial ties don't--they are not quite the same thing. Those who are not Dalish, are not Dalish. Quite literally in many cases they are not our kin. We have spent so long apart from them...” she frowned. “And those of the alienages are the elvhen who surrendered to the Chantry during the Exalted March of the Dales. We who are Dalish did not surrender our language, our faith, our culture—but they _did_. How can we call ourselves kin when _they_ do not want to be our kin?”

“They do still have a big tree in the Alienage,” Kitranna said. “Call it a Vhenadahl. Isn't that a Dalish thing?”

“Oh, yes, I know about those,” Oshathyla said. “It is a pity—the Dalish cannot grow them because we are always moving. If we planted one in a forest, we would have to leave it and move on very soon afterwards.”

“Doesn't that mean they haven't abandoned their culture entirely?”

Oshathyla looked at Kitranna and sighed. “Perhaps,” she said. “But I do not know. And what could we do for one another? Even now, the Dalish are not wanted in Denerim, and it is very hard for a city elf to come to us. I am sure that if we think they are not our kin, they must feel the same way.” she fussed with a pendant that hung from a string around her neck. 

“Hey, you never know until you try,” Kitranna said with a shrug. “Couldn't you swap recipes or something at least?”

Oshathyla stared at her. “...I suppose...” she said, frowning. 

“Look, you should at least stop in and say hello,” Kitranna urged. “I mean—they just had a bunch of people taken by Tevinter slavers--”

“They _what_?” Oshathyla exclaimed, her demeanor completely changing. 

Kitranna let out a hard breath through her nose. “Yeah,” she said. “There was some unrest, rebellious kind of stuff, and Loghain thought slavers would be the best way to put it down.”

Oshathyla went pale and began to pace. She muttered something to herself in Dalish and shook her head. She looked at Kitranna. “Who should I speak to?”

“You actually want to now?” Kitranna raised an eyebrow.

“I don't care if they're all half-human, of course I would want to speak to them!” she said something else in Dalish then switched back to common. “Mythal's mercy, _Tevinter slavers?_ You're quite sure?"

Kitranna nodded and rubbed the back of her head. “Yeah,” she said. “We got them, but not before they got at least twenty people.” she pinched the bridge of her nose. The memory of cages made her slightly sick. “If you want to speak to anyone, you should talk to either Shianni or one of the Tabrises,” she said. “It was Shianni who figured there was something wrong with the front the slavers were using. And Mistress Uvundar Tabris got arrested for stabbing a human noble, so, you know, you'll like her.”

"Uvundar?" Oshathyla was thoughtful.

"Does that mean something to you?"

"It's--well, it's elvhen pigdin," she explained. "It means 'star blade.' I...perhaps we have more in common than I had considered."

"I don't know. Maybe. I mean, _I'm_ not Dalish, after all." Kitranna couldn't help the note of bitterness that crept into her voice. 

Oshathyla looked immeasurably sad at that for a moment. "Wardens are their own people," she said. "But--if this ends, and you kill the Archdemon, know that you are a friend to us. We--" she laughed a bit. "We do all have pointed ears, don't we?" 

Kitranna grinned. "I guess so."


	28. Concept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> home stretch, guys! just a few more chapters left :)
> 
> reminder that any of y'all who like the story can leave a comment at any time! i'd really appreciate it!!

The city grew tense as the Darkspawn approached. More of the Wardens' allies came, camping outside of Denerim or nearby, and generally making everyone in the city a bit on edge. 

Oshathyla had contacted Shianni and the Tabrises, and they actually managed to have a fairly decent correspondence. 

There were still problems between the Templars and the Dalish, but Ambassador Talvi and the dwarves were making good on their alliance and coming between the two groups to defuse any confrontations. It was a good thing, too—there were actually fewer than fifty fully trained battle mages from the Circle, and only five qualified spirit healers (excluding Wynne and Fiona). Everyone else was a child, or simply not trained enough to be in combat. The Dalish had several hundred mages across Ferelden, many healers of varying ability, and a large number of trained combat mages. 

No matter how much mages were feared and disliked, no one could contest their usefulness during a fight. The only thing as good as a mage was a Qunari equipped with explosives and artillery, and there weren't exactly many of those around (although a small Vashothari group _had_ joined with the Redcliffe forces). 

Without the Dalish, the mage forces would be spread far too thin, and after the disaster at Ostagar, no one wanted to take any chances against the darkspawn. 

Then there was the Archdemon.

Only Kitranna, Alistair, or Riordan could deal the killing blow. The Archdemon could be weakened, but not killed by anything less than a full Warden, and they had no idea how they were going to do that.

“There are ways to kill even the largest and strongest of dragons,” Riordan said, as the Wardens met to discuss that very issue. “All Archdemons before this one have died. This one will as well.”

“So do we wait until it gets to Denerim?” Kitranna said. “Or meet it somewhere else?”

“It's coming to Denerim no matter what,” Alistair said with a sigh. “We can't really make it go anywhere it doesn't want to.”

Fiona nodded. “It is an intelligent being,” she said. “There is a reason it is taking the Horde here before anywhere else.”

“If it's so intelligent, what's the point in all of this?” Kitranna demanded. “Why attack the country to begin with?”

“Who is to say?” Riordan said. “Wiser people than us have tried to work out why the darkspawn do what they do, and we still have no idea.”

Kitranna leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. “Alright,” she said. “How do we make sure it will come after us?”

“It is already coming here,” Fiona said. “It will be here in days.”

“I know that,” Kitranna snapped. “Any particular battle plans we can draw up? Something to make sure one of us suicides and it's actually worth it?”

There was a very tense silence. 

“We would need to be somewhere high up,” Alistair said.

“I agree,” Riordan said. “Perhaps there are some strategies used against high dragons that would work--”

“Probably not,” Alistair said. “If it's smart, it won't think like a normal dragon. High dragons are like big bears or wolves—but the Archdemon is something else.”

“Could an Archdemon tell when a Warden is attacking it?” Kitranna asked. “Because then it would just leave.”

“I...do not think so,” Riordan said. “But I am not sure.”

“Would enough arrows from a Warden kill it, or do we have to just stab it?” Alistair asked. “Because if we can shoot it, we don't have to get anywhere close, just operate a ballista and--”

“I believe you have to strike it yourself,” Fiona said. “But there is no real evidence one way or the other.”

“So what I'm hearing is that we're guessing,” Kitranna said.

“Sadly, yes,” Riordan said. “The last Archdemon was felled hundreds of years ago, and they are not exactly common.”

Kitranna sighed and sat back in her chair. “Alright,” she said. “Alright. Look—we have a flying thing—I guess the priority would be to get it on the ground?”

“That sounds right,” Alistair agreed. “If we have to get close to it, we can't have it flying around.”

“We would have to focus our efforts on the Archdemon,” Riordan said, gesturing to himself, Kitranna and Alistair. “We could not risk one of us falling before we have the chance to kill the Archdemon.”

Kitranna nodded. “No Ostagar repeats.”

“No,” Alistair agreed quietly. “Definitely not.”

They didn't come up with any solid plans, except to aim for the wings of the thing and try to stay out of the battle until it was absolutely necessary.

Meanwhile, the dreams of the Archdemon grew worse. Kitranna woke many nights in a row, shaking and sweating, the Archdemon's voice echoing in her ears. It truly did have a voice—she just had no idea what it said. 

The dreams worried Morrigan, in many ways. 

“You do not have foresight,” she said one night after Kitranna woke from one such nightmare. “You are no Fadewalker, to have dreams like these.”

Kitranna waved a hand. “It's a Warden thing,” she said, her teeth chattering. She was freezing, as she had woken up in a cold sweat. Morrigan put another blanket over her shoulders. “Alistair gets them too, and he's not even a mage.”

Morrigan shook her head. “I dislike this Taint business,” she said. 

“No one really likes it much.”

“Who is to say the Archdemon cannot get into your mind? That it cannot see you? It carries the soul of an Old God--”

“Is that a real thing, or just something made up?”

“According to Flemeth's grimoire, it is true,” Morrigan said, with a troubled expression. “I do not know if this is correct. If so, there are several unpleasant implications.”

“Like that she's studied the Archdemons?” Kitranna cocked an eyebrow.

Morrigan nodded. “I am aware she is old, but to be old enough to have studied one Archdemon, let alone several...” she glanced away. “'tis possible it is something she discovered in the Fade, but her Grimoire says little of Fadewalking. She was no Somniari, that I knew, and her Grimoire says nothing otherwise.”

“Hm...” Kitranna pursed her lips and wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. “So, it's an Old God. What does that mean?”

“The Old Gods were dragons that Tevinter worshiped,” Morrigan said with a slight sneer. “I believe that they were merely beasts possessed by spirits of great strength—but whatever they are, they are corrupted now. Blighted.”

“Do you believe the Chantry's story about how the Blight started?”

“No,” Morrigan sniffed. “It is paranoid drivel, designed to make the peasantry hate and fear Tevinter. Perhaps there was some truth to it, long ago, but it has long since been lost.”

Kitranna sighed and leaned into Morrigan, who hesitated, then put an arm around her. 

“Great,” she said. “Can't wait to meet it.” she closed her eyes. “The Warden who kills the Archdemon dies.”

Morrigan was silent for a long moment. “I know.” she murmured.

“You knew?” Kitranna exclaimed, sitting up. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“I could not be certain,” Morrigan retorted. “What good would it have done to say?”

“But--”

“I did not want to be certain,” Morrigan whispered. “I did not want it to come to this. I thought..perhaps...”

“Oh...” Kitranna deflated. She reached over and took Morrigan's hand. “I don't know what to say.” she admitted.

“There is a spell I know,” Morrigan said slowly. “A way out. A loop for your hole.”

“What is it?” Kitranna leaned forward. “What do you know?”

“A ritual, performed on the eve of battle. In the dark of night.”

“This sounds like it could be very...bad.”

“Not for you. It is old magic, from the time before the Circle was created. Some would call it blood magic, but I doubt that means anything to you.”

“Yeah, not really, unless you have to stab a baby or something.”

Morigan chuckled. “No—quite the opposite, really.”

“So you...hug a baby?”

“Pray let me continue, my love?”

“Sure.”

“If I bore a child from someone with the Taint, that child would have the Taint. And when the Archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb the essence and not perish. The Archdemon is still destroyed, with no Gray Warden dying in the process.”

Kitranna paused and nodded. “There are so many ways that doesn't make sense,” she said at last.

Morrigan sighed heavily. 

“Gray Wardens can't have children,” Kitranna said. “And how would a Tainted baby not end up coming out like a—a weird hurlock thing? And how exactly does a baby absorb an Old God's soul anyway? Who even invented this spell?”

“It was in Flemeth's grimoire, so you have her to thank.”

Kitranna frowned. “Flemeth knew a lot about Archdemons.”

“She did indeed.”

“A _lot_.” Kitranna crossed her arms. “And what's to stop the baby becoming a darkspawn? Do you really want to have a darkspawn baby?” she tapped her chin. “Wouldn't it come out all bumpy? With a weird head?”

“Kitranna,” Morrigan said. “It will not be a darkspawn. The child would be something different—it would have the essence of an Old God.”

“So it would come out like a dragon.”

“I believe you may be missing the point a bit.”

“Morrigan, it would have four feet or—horns or something!”

“No, it would not.”

“How do you know?”

“Flemeth's instructions were very clear, and extremely thorough.”

“How did _she_ know?”

Morrigan paused. 

Kitranna sighed and slumped. “You have no idea if she knew or not.”

“I did not say that,” Morrigan said. 

“Did Flemeth ever have some kind of horrible dragon baby?” Kitranna asked. “I mean, she could turn into a dragon, so I guess if she did it wouldn't be a problem--”

“Shapeshifting while pregnant is highly inadvisable,” Morrigan said. “It gives the child strange ideas.”

“It's a baby, what ideas could it get?”

“Flemeth outlined several possibilities—you could read for yourself if you wished—it does not matter,” Morrigan exclaimed. “Because if we did this, you would be alive, instead of dying. Even Alistair would be alive.”

“But what if it hurt you?” Kitranna asked. “I mean—from what I hear, normal babies are hard enough. And from the sounds of it, this would be a horrible little dragon thing with six limbs and horns--”

“I am confident it will not be that,” Morrigan said.

“Yeah, but you don't _know_ ,” Kitranna insisted.

“Is it not better to try, and then you shall be alive, instead of not try, and then you shall be dead, and the soul of the Archdemon lost?” Morrigan said.

“I suppose...” Kitranna bit her lip. “What can you even do with a horrible Archdemon baby anyway?”

“The soul of an old God is something to be saved, not merely tossed away.”

“Yeah, but the Archdemons were corrupted.”

“By the Taint.”

“Which your baby would have—how are you supposed to get pregnant, anyway?”

“The usual means by which one becomes pregnant.”

“Morrigan, that means you would need to—perform the usual means—with Alistair. Or Riordan.” Kitranna made a face. “Gross.” she perked up. “Unless you had some other idea?”

Morrigan shook her head. “Sadly, I do not.”

Kitranna stuck out her tongue. “ _Gross_ ,” she repeated. “And Alistair doesn't even like you. You fight all the time. And Riordan would probably be weird about the magic.”

“Neither of them wish to die.”

“And I don't know how everyone else would feel about an evil mutant baby...”

“It will not be evil,” Morrigan sighed. 

Kitranna sat up. “And what would Anora think? Half of the mess we're in now was caused by succession struggles...”

“I can promise you the child will not attempt to seize the Fereldan throne.”

“Good,” Kitranna relaxed. “That's a relief.” she rubbed the back of her head. “Well...I guess we should at least talk to Alistair about it,” she said. “I'm still not sure about Riordan, though.”

Morrigan nodded. “There is one more thing,” she said.

“What is it?”

“If you do this, you must let me leave, and raise the child on my own. You must never search for me.”

“What?” Kitranna exclaimed. “I can't do that!” she snatched up Morrigan's hands, shrugging her blanket off. “What if something went wrong? What if someone hurt you? What if you twisted your ankle and there was no one around but a weird four legged demon child?”

Morrigan gave Kitranna a slight, sad smile. “I am entirely capable of taking care of myself.”

“You've never been pregnant before! _I_ haven't been pregnant before! What if the baby's head were—were turned around or something and you were all by yourself? What if you got sick? What if--

“Kitranna,” Morrigan said. 

“ _What_?”

“You knew, when we began this, that it did not mean I would stay by your side forever.”

“That's not what I--” Kitranna sighed. “I'm—I'm _worried_ ,” she said. “I don't want you to leave me and I'm scared to death of something happening to you and I'm not there to help.”

Morrigan paused, her eyes wide. “I—I know,” she said. “I'm glad. I—I am not used to someone caring for me.”

“ _I_ care.”

“I am well aware of that. But regardless—we must discuss this with your fellow Wardens, mustn't we?”

Kitranna pursed her lips. “Fine,” she said. “But we're not done.”

“I am aware of that, as well.”

 

“Do you just have a thing for asking me to do things I really don't want to do?” Alistair asked Kitranna. 

“What, do you want to die killing the Archdemon?” Kitranna snapped, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms.

“How are you so certain this would even work?” Fiona asked Morrigan. “Flemeth, for all her knowledge, could not possibly have performed this spell before. All the Wardens who have ever killed Archdemons before died when they did so.”

“All of Flemeth's other experiments have worked,” Morrigan said with a shrug. “And she has performed many in her time.”

“This is incredibly dangerous,” Fiona said. “Disregarding entirely that I am not sure at all if it would work—you would be putting yourself at risk for the battle.”

“I would be hardly a day pregnant.”

“But you would still be so,” Fiona said. “That is—if you are even certain your spell would guarantee a viable child.”

Morrigan nodded. “It would. Flemeth had many means of begetting children.” her lip curled in disgust. “She even had specific methods by which she could be sure of a daughter with magic.”

Fiona raised her eyebrows. “Did she now?”

Morrigan nodded again. 

“Interesting...” Fiona tapped her finger on her lips. “Does her grimoire say anything about removing the Taint?”

Morrigan shook her head. “That was not her particular area of interest.”

“She knows how to have a child with a Gray Warden but not how to get rid of the Taint?” Alistair said, his expression doubtful.

Morrigan shrugged. “She could not know everything, even if it seemed as if she did.”

“I say we do it,” Kitranna said, looking down at her knees.

“What?” Alistair exclaimed. 

“Well, why shouldn't we?”

“There are _so_ many reasons why we shouldn't!”

“It is a highly experimental spell,” Fiona said. “I worry about any side-effects...not to mention a human child imbued with the soul of an Archdemon...” she looked at Morrigan. “What would such a child be like?”

“Quite similar to any other child, if Flemeth's notes are to be trusted.”

“And are they?”

“Every other spell of hers has worked.”

“I really, really do not want to do this,” Alistair said. “Shouldn't we talk to Riordan?”

“Gray Wardens have a more open view of magic,” Fiona said, biting the inside of her cheek. “But even so, I doubt he would agree to this.”

“It couldn't hurt to ask. Also, I don't want to.”

“You'd rather die?” Kitranna ask. “Or have me die? Or Riordan? Because those are the choices here.”

“No, of course not!” Alistair exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head.

“This is looking like the only way not to die.”

Fiona still looked troubled. 

“It is a way for all of you to live,” Morrigan insisted. “Should you not take this, one of you will die.”

“That is, if we all don't die killing the Archdemon,” Alistair said.

Morrian sighed. “Yes, if given that.”

“What if you had the baby, and then in twenty years he shows up wanting the Ferelden throne?” Alistair asked.

“You have nothing to fear on that account,” Morrigan said. “I do not want or need a throne.”

“Yeah, but your baby might, 'specially if it was an evil Archdemon baby.”

“That's what I've been saying!” Kitranna said. “But if it's an evil baby over getting killed, I'll take the evil baby.”

“It will not be evil,” Morrigan insisted with an exasperated sigh. 

“How do you know?” Alistair demanded. “You're pretty evil yourself.”

Both Morrigan and Kitranna glared at him. “Pragmatic is not evil.” Morrigan said.

“Enough,” Fiona said. “Come—we must decide, and soon.” she bit her lip, then shook her head. “I am too biased to make an effective decision,” she said. “Not when your lives are at risk. I am no Warden—not truly. You must be the ones to make this choice.”

“Fiona--” Alistair said.

Fiona got to her feet and squeezed Alistair's shoulder, then she left the room.

Kitranna watched her go, then turned back to her companions.

“Well,” she said. “What are we going to do?” 

“There is not reason not to do this,” Morrigan said.

“There are plenty of reasons not to!” Alistair said.

“We don't have to do it until the 'eve of battle,'” Kitranna said. “That's what you said, right?” she asked Morrigan, who nodded. “Right. So, we don't have to decide just yet, but I think we should do it.”

Alistair sighed. “This doesn't seem like...well, like good magic, exactly,” he said. “Seems pretty fishy.”

“Isn't anything that keeps us alive and not dead good?” Kitranna asked. 

Alistair rubbed his eyes. “That is a very good point,” he said. “I really don't feel like dying.”

“So you'll do it?”

Alistair looked at Morrigan and grimaced. “Well, it's a pretty hard choice--” Morrigan glared at him more intensely, her yellow eyes boring into his brown ones. “But yes.”


	29. Penultimate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the darkspawn army comes to denerim
> 
> one more chapter left, folks, and if any of y'all would _leave a comment_ i'd much appreciate it

The darkspawn approached at an unprecedented speed, and sightings of the Archdemon soon became commonplace.

On the night before the darkspawn were estimated to arrive in Denerim, Alistair and Morrigan performed her ritual. It took them a little less than an hour, and when they came out of the bedroom they had cordoned off, neither of them looked well.

“How was it?” Kitranna asked them. “Did it work?”

Alistair made a face. “Well, that was horrible,” he grimaced. “I feel a bit sick.”

“Thank you ever so,” Morrigan growled. She was looking a bit pale. “But yes, it did work. Providing nothing else kills you tomorrow, the slaying of the Archdemon will not result in the death of a Warden.”

Kitranna beamed. “Great!” she took Morrigan's hands. “Hopefully that didn't traumatize you too much.”

“Hey!” Alistair protested. 

Kitranna rolled her eyes. “And I hope you weren't traumatized either.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

 

The next day, the darkspawn were fast approaching Denerim. There were fires on the horizon, as the darkspawn approached and torched the surrounding fields. 

Kitranna shook her head. “This doesn't look good.” she said, looking out from the outermost wall of the city. 

“It does not,” Eamon agreed.

They had called the civilians in from the surrounding area, pulling them back to defend the city. They had gathered all their forces together, and hopefully they would be enough. The armies were marshaled just outside of Denerim, defending the walls. They were getting restless.

“They want a speech,” Alistair groaned. “I don't want to give anyone a speech.”

“You're the king,” Kitranna said with a shrug.

“I'm not the king yet,”

“Look, they don't want to hear a speech from me,” she said.

“What about Anora?”

“Oh—good idea!” Kitranna nodded. “Let's go get her.”

Anora, dressed in ceremonial plate armor, was more than happy to give a speech to their gathered forces. 

Anora stood on a dais in front of their army. 

“Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde!” she called out over the crowd. “Gaze upon them now, but fear them not! We have removed the usurpers within our midst, and now we may defend against the monsters at our doorstep!” she gestured to Kitranna and Alistair at her side. “We could do none of this without the Gray Wardens—the woman who stands before you is a mage, one who has brought all of us together to fight the darkspawn! And this man, Alistair Theirin, is the younger son of King Maric, and has returned to us in our time of need! Today, we avenge the death of King Cailan, and all those lost at Ostagar! Today, we defend Denerim! Today, we show the Gray Wardens that we remember and honor their sacrifice!” Anora raised her hands, and the crowd roared its approval. 

“Nice words,” Kitranna said, her eyes on the horizon as she watched the glow of the darkspawn army’s torches approach. “We better back them up.” she took her Spellweaver off her back, and the army turned as one to defend the walls.

The darkspawn came at the gates of the city en masse, hundreds of them, throwing themselves at the walls with abandon.

The air was thick with the smell of ashes and hot metal, and electricity and lyrium from the spells being cast. Everything was in utter chaos, and it was all Kitranna could do to keep herself upright and fighting.

The fight was long and brutal, just to keep them from getting inside the city. At long last, however, one of the ogres bashed its way through the main gate, and they were forced to pull back some, to try and prevent the darkspawn from getting to the rest of the city. 

There were so many darkspawn, hundreds of them, thousands. Although the army did what they could, many darkspawn slipped past, and soon Denerim itself was on fire. 

The Archdemon made itself known soon, surging over the walls of the city to spout more flames over both the buildings and the army. Its roar was deafening, sounding even over the screams of the Darkspawn.

There was a break in the battle, where Alistair and Kitranna found each other, and Riordan managed to find the pair of them.

“You should go to Fort Drakon,” Riordan said, gesturing with his sword. “That is the highest point in the city—we will have the best chance at reaching the Archdemon there.”

“What about you?” Kitranna asked, panting and favoring one leg. 

“I will attempt to reach it from here,” he said. “You will have to cross the city—we should not all go to the same place.”

“We can head through the Alienage,” Alistair said. “They might need help there, anyway.”

Kitranna agreed, and she, Alistair, Fiona, Zevran, Leliana and Morrigan all headed to Fort Drakon (Kitranna had not wanted Morrigan to be in the fight, but she insisted, and there wasn't much anyone could do about it).

The Alienage was under siege by several ogres and a wave of smaller Darkspawn. They met Shianni at the gates, which were being attacked by an enormous ogre and an Emissary.

“Some of the Dalish came by to help,” Shianni said, gesturing to a contingent of Dalish elves armed with longbows. “Most of the soldiers and everyone else are at the walls, though, and it's not like we're going to get reinforcements--”

The gate gave a shudder and a nasty cracking sound was heard. There were some archers on the roofs, and they let their arrows fly, but it didn't seem to be enough. The ogres still burst through the gates, and Kitranna and company spent precious time fighting them off to give the Alienage footing again. 

The Dalish seemed to work well with the Alienage elves, in spite of their different blood. Perhaps it was simply that all people worked well together when under threat of death. In any case, once that wave of ogres was defeated, Kitranna and the others hurried on while the Alienage shored up their defenses. 

The Archdemon was enormous. Kitranna's memories of it from the Deep Roads had made it smaller than it actually was, but now, seeing it winging over the city, she could truly see the massive size of it.

Riordan did get a shot at it. He had climbed a high tower and when the Archdemon had swing by, he leapt onto its back. He jammed his blade into it again and again, wounding one of its wings, but it threw him off. They didn't see where he landed, but it was a long, long fall. 

They sped faster to Fort Drakon, now that were only two Wardens left. 

Fort Drakon was overrun with darkspawn, the Archdemon evidently having understood what the Wardens would do and instructing its darkspawn to block their path. They fought through the fort, assisted some by the Denerim Guard, who did not go down without a fight themselves. 

Finally, they got to the roof, where the Archdemon rested. Its wing was too damaged for it to fly properly, so it skulked on the roof, angry and dangerous. 

Fiona and Kitranna hurled a lightning spell at the dragon, which it shrugged off. Alistair and Zevran held off the darkspawn that the Archdemon called to aid it, while Leliana positioned herself near one of the ballistas so she could try and use it. Morrigan went for the dragon's remaining uninjured wing, alternately freezing it and sending stone shards at it.

Wave after wave of darkspawn attacked, trying to stop them from getting at the Archdemon. Everyone was exhausted, and Kitranna muttered a curse as she realized that she had drunk her last mana potion. 

At last, however, the Archdemon was slowing, one of its legs cut through to the bone, a burn on its side and face, both wings crooked and broken. 

Kitranna's group wasn't in much better shape. Fiona had a broken leg and was off to one side, a barrier keeping the darkspawn off while she tried to mend her leg. Alistair was defending Fiona, but visibly flagging, but face covered in sweat. Morrigan and Zevran were back to back, Morrigan with lyrium potion dribbling from the corner of her mouth and Zevran's hair in disarray and a shallow gash in his chest. Leliana had climbed up onto a parapet and was shooting anything that came close, but she had a cut over one eye and blood was trickling down the side of her face. 

The corpses of several mages and soldiers littered the roof, and those who were still alive were grappling with darkspawn. Three soldiers were trying to get the single remaining ballista to work but it too appeared to be on its last legs. 

Kitranna was the only one near the Archdemon.

She had run out of both lyrium and elfroot potions ages ago, and her mana was dangerously low. She had resorted to manipulating the raw Fade, her spells becoming less controlled and more explosive as she did so—she was pretty sure she'd injured one of the archers with an ice spell that had backfired, but she couldn't stop now. 

The Archdemon stumbled, and Kitranna wheezed out a laugh. It attempted to spit fire, but only a small flare erupted from its mouth, instead of the enormous gouts of flame that were normal. 

Kitranna gritted her teeth, reached for a spell that would bring down the beast, and—there was nothing. She had nothing left in her. She snatched at the Fade for something, anything, and her arms crackled weakly with lightning. 

She cursed, and ran forward.

She'd lost her Spellweaver, but she spotted another blade on the ground and snatched it up. She heard Morrigan shout her name but she ignored her, barreling forward with the last of her strength.

She got the Archdemon in the throat, dragging the blade down while the beast roared in rage. It thrashed and spat, and acid blood rained down on her, hot on her face. She growled and thrust the sword up, almost cutting its head off. She got to her feet and yanked the blade out, only to jam it deeply into one of the Archdemon's eyes.

The Archdemon screamed, and everything was enveloped in light. She heard her companions and the soldiers shout, but she couldn't see anything. There was simply light, everywhere. 

Then the light died, and all the strength went out of Kitranna's legs. 

Kitranna's chest heaved. She was covered in blood and she could smell it in the air, a copper tang mixed with something else that stung her nostrils. She fell to her knees, one hand still clutching the slippery handle of the sword. The body of the Archdemon collapsed, its head falling on one of her legs, and Kitranna had to work her way out from under the heavy beast. 

“Kitranna!” Morrigan was the first to reach her, grabbing her face tightly and looking deep into her eyes. 

Kitranna smiled. “It worked,” she croaked. “Still alive.”

Morrigan looked conflicted for a moment, then lunged forward and pressed a hard kiss to her lips. She tasted like blood and lyrium, and her lip was split, but Kitranna eagerly returned her kiss. Neither of them had any strength for a healing spell, and Morrigan was so tired that she sunk to her knees beside Kitranna. 

“I love you,” Kitranna whispered. 

Morrigan closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to Kitranna's. “I...” she whispered, and bit her lip. “I...I know.”

Kitranna smiled. “I'm glad.”


	30. Quiescent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi folks, so we come to the final chapter of the moth's wing!
> 
> thank you for all your views and kudos, and as always, please remember to leave me a comment!

It was several days before anyone was fit to do much else other than lie in a bed. 

As it turned out, the alliance with the Dalish had been Maker-sent (or rather, Creators-sent in their case). The Circle had far too few spirit healers to help the whole of Denerim and the army as well. The Dalish spirit healers numbered far more, and many of the Dalish were herbalists and healers in their own way as well. 

Even so, there were many wounded that needed tending to, almost more than could be handled. 

The darkspawn had fled after the death of the Archdemon, uncoordinated and scattered, but they had done a great deal of damage to the city before the Archdemon had been killed. Many soldiers were dead, and the civilians of Denerim had taken heavy losses as well. There was rebuilding to be done, wounds to heal, dead to cart away and bury. There were so many dead, of so many different peoples, that the cremations and burials would be taking place for weeks. Even the Vhenadahl in the Alienage had taken damage, several of its branches having been cut off and its trunk burned somewhat. Apparently, however, a Dalish woodswoman saw to it, and tried to help it as best she could. 

Wynne had collapsed soon after the battle, overworked by both the fight and by trying to heal many people at once, and there had been a worry that her heart would give out. It seemed, however, that she was not done fighting yet, and she did recover. 

Shale and Oghren fared the best out of anyone, Shale with but a few chips and dents and Oghren with a broken nose but otherwise fine. 

Fiona's leg had been broken in two places, and Alistair had badly fractured his shield arm. The gash in Zevran's chest was luckily not infected with the Taint, but was fairly serious and needed a spirit healer to tend to it. Leliana had a concussion and a nasty cut above her right eye which would most likely scar. Morrigan had wrenched her left shoulder out of its socket, and needed to carry her arm in a sling while it healed.

Kitranna had strange burns that crossed her hands and went up her arms, that had seemed to have been caused by the magic that was released upon the Archdemon's death. She found it difficult to close her hands or hold anything, and despite the magical healing, the skin of her palms would take a long time to recover. Her Spellweaver was broken, the blade separated from the hilt, but it hardly mattered at the moment, because she could not hold it. 

All of them were exhausted, the mages doubly so. The entire city had some damages where battle-weary mages had used the raw Fade to make spells, and their spells had backfired or simply been more explosive than anticipated. There were no signs of any demon summoning, which was good, but after that kind of battle even a demon would be tired. 

Morrigan was worried for her child, and she was tired from the battle as well, but she still wished to leave as soon as she was able. Even having her arm in a sling did not deter her.

“Are you still going to leave?” Kitranna asked Morrigan, finding her collecting her things. She moved stiffly, still sore, and she smelled like elfroot and ozone, a sure sign someone had been healing her only recently. 

“I must,” she said.

“You don't have to,” Kitranna insisted, looping her arm around Morrigan's good one. She couldn't take Morrigan's hands, as her fingers still refused to bend without pain. “Whatever you need to do—we could do it together—you're still hurt--”

“Please,” Morrigan closed her eyes and stroked Kitranna's arm with her good hand. “I must. There are things I must do, that I do not wish for you to be involved in.”

“Why not?” Kitranna demanded, her voice slightly choked. 

“You have your own responsibilities,” Morrigan said. “And I—I would not see you hurt because of my decisions.”

Kitranna reached out and clumsily tucked a stray strand of hair behind Morrigan's ear, her hand flat and turned around so her knuckles brushed Morrigan's cheek. “I wish you'd stay,” she whispered. “I love you.”

“There are things both of us must do,” Morrigan murmured. She leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to Kitranna's brow. 

“I'm going to find you,” Kitranna said, pressing the back of her hand to Morrigan's face. “I'll find you and I'll help. Whether you want me to or not.”

“I am sure you will,” Morrigan said with a tiny smile. "I do not wish you to, but I have found that it is hard to deny your anything." She pulled away from Kitranna, and collected he things. “I—I do love you,” she said, after a hesitation. “I do.” she paused again. “If you have need of me, I will be there,” she said. “I can promise you that.”

Kitranna gave a watery, confused smile, and watched as Morrigan walked out the door. 

 

It was several weeks later that Kitranna found herself in the main hall of Denerim Castle, watching Alistair's coronation. Anora was already Queen, so they just needed to swear Alistair in, as it were.

The hall was bedecked in somewhat slapdash decorations, and still smelled very strongly of elfroot, ash and blood, as it had been used as a makeshift infirmary. There weren't many people at the celebration, just Kitranna's people and those nobles who could stand up. It wasn't even a proper Chantry Mother crowning Alistair, it was a tiny Sister who couldn't have been more than twenty, who stuttered as she read the vows. 

But still, Alistair was crowned, and it was done. 

Anora and Alistair looked at each other. Alistair smiled, and although Anora didn't, she seemed to soften a bit as they descended into the sparse crowd. 

Kitranna wasn't sure where to go from here. No one really was. The last time a Blight had ended had been hundreds of years ago, so right now, all anyone was focusing on was healing their wounds and getting the country into even the most basic of functionality. 

So, Kitranna stood next to Zevran, and they idly watched the crowd.

“So, are you going back to Orzammar when this is done?” Kitranna elbowed Zevran with a grin. “Back to Queen Aeducan?”

Zevran smirked. “Perhaps I will,” he said. “But I believe I have some business I need to finish with the Crows.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Or perhaps I can simply return to Culwydd, and she will send her mighty dwarven assassins to take care of it for me. Who is to say?” he looked at her. “And what of you?”

“Me?” Kitranna pressed the palm of her hand to her chest, pleased that she could do it without pain.

Zevran elbowed her back. “What are you going to do?”

Kitranna shrugged and looked away. “I don't know.”

Zevran nodded with a knowing expression. “Ah, well, you do not have to know.” he patted her on the shoulder. “I am sure you will manage.”

“I'm sure I will.”

She spoke to Wynne and Leliana as well, who were hovering by the edge of the crowd together. 

“Will you return to the Circle?” Wynne asked.

Kitranna shook her head. “No. I don't have to—Gray Warden and all.”

“Calenhad will need every capable mage it can get to recover from the demons,” Wynne said. “Are you certain you do not wish to return?”

Kitranna shook her head. “No—I'm sure you'll be fine on your own.” she looked at Leliana. “What about you?”

“I think I will help in the recovery here,” Leliana said. “Then—I do not know. The Chantry may have a place for me.”

Kitranna nodded. “Good. That's good.”

Fiona was on the other side, watching everyone with a distant sort of expression. 

“Are you going back to Weisshaupt?” Kitranna asked her.

“I suppose,” Fiona said. “Although I am sure there are still darkspawn here.” her gaze darted to Alistair and back. “It appears Morrigan's ritual worked.”

“Yeah.”

“I am glad.”

“I figured you'd be happy.” Kitranna grinned. “Well, as happy as you ever are.”

Fiona glared at her. “I am glad you and Alistair still live,” she said. “But I worry about the ramifications of this choice.”

“You and me both,” Kitranna assured her with a sigh. She had the feeling that she and Fiona weren't worried about exactly the same things, but it was still nice to know that someone else _was_ worried.

Kitranna moved on. She spoke to several others, Teagan, Alistair, Anora—but she couldn't help feeling the ache in her chest from one last missing person. 

Morrigan should have been there. 

No one had any idea where Morrigan had gone. That couldn't be forever, though. Kitranna would find her, someday. They'd come back to each other again. 

Kitranna walked to the end of the hall, pushed the doors open, and walked out, into the evening light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Dear Mother of Memory...were you lost again?'_  
>  _'Yes...but this time something touched me...like the fluttering of a moth's wing...'”_  
>  Elfquest, Issue #6


End file.
